UC-NRLF 


SB    155 


f  I)  E.  M  8 


Zox,  JVo. 


PRESENTED     BY 


CHAPTER  V.  OF  THE  LIBRARY. 

The  Library  Committee  shall  divide  the  books  and  other 
articles  belonging  to  the  Library  into  three  classes,  namely  : 
(a)  those  which  are  not  to  be  removed  from  the  building;  (b) 
those  which  may  be  taken  from  the  halls  only  by  written 
permission  of  three  members  of  the  committee,  who  shall 
take  a  receipt  for  the  same  and  be  responsible  for  their  safe 
return;  (c)  tho=e  which  may  circulate  under  the  following 
rules : — 

Members  shall  be  entitled  to  take  from  the  Library  one 
folio,  or  two  quarto  volumes,  or  four  volumes  of  any  lesser 
fold,  with  the  plates  belonging  to  the  same,  upon  having 
them  recorded  by  the  Librarian,  or  Assistant  Librarian,  and 
promising  to  make  good  any  damage  they  sustain,  while  in 
their  possession,  and  to  replace  the  same  if  lost,  or  pay  the 
sum  fixed  by  the  Library  Committee. 

No  person  shall  lend  any  book  belonging  to  the  Institute, 
excepting  to  a  member,  under  u  penalty  of  one  dollar  for 
every  such  offence. 

The  Library  Committee  may  allow  members  to  take  more 
than  the  allotted  number  of  books  upon  a  written  applica 
tion,  and  may  also  permit  other  persons  than  members  to 
use  the  Library,  under  such  conditions  as  they  may  impose. 

No  person  shall  detain  any  book  longer  than  four  weeks 
from  the  time  of  its  being  taken  from  the  Library,  if  notified 
that  the  same  is  wanted  by  another  member,  under  a  penalty 
of  five  cents  per  day,  and  no  volume  shall  be  detained  longer 
than  three  months  at  one  time  under  tiie  same  penalty. 

The  Librarian  shall  have  power  by  order  of  the  Library 
Committee;  to  call  in  any  volume  after  it  has  been  retained 
by  a  member  for  ten  days. 

O;i  or  before  the  first  Wednesday  in  May,  all  books  shall 
be  returned  to  the  Library,  and  a  penalty  of  five  cents  per 
day  shall  be  imposed  for  each  volume  detained. 

Labels  designating  the  class  to  which  each  book  belongs 
shall  be  placed  upon  its  cover. 

No  book  shall  be  allowed  to  circulate  until  one  month  after 
its  reception. 


POEMS, 


ORIGINAL   AND    SELECTED, 


BY 


MRS.   BENNISON, 
/I 


"  Ambition's  meed,  a  sounding  name  possessing 

1  ask  not;"  nor  would  wholly  useless  be; 

May  this  email  effort  noiseless  footsteps  bending, 

Assist  the  youthful  Reader  o'er  Time's  Sea. 


BOSTON: 

PRINTED    FOR   THE    AUTHOR. 

1847. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1847, 

BY  MRS.  BENNISON, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Mass. 


DEDICATION. 


To  my  patrons  and  subscribers,  my  children,  friends, 
and  the  public,  this  small  volume  is  respectfully  dedi 
cated,  without  apologizing,  (although  by  some  this  may 
be  deemed  necessary.)  My  patrons  and  subscribers  are 
requested  to  accept  of  my  warmest  thanks  for  the  aid 
they  have  afforded  me  ;  as  they  have  been  influenced  by 
the  pure,  disinterested  flame  of  benevolence,  they  have, 
within  their  own  bosoms,  the  rich  reward  of  having 
acted  on  the  broad  basis  of  philanthropy,  without  regard 
to  the  religious  opinions  of  the  writer.  The  reminis 
cences,  effusions,  and  letters,  were  not  originally  written 
for  publication,  and  appear  in  the  same  simple  and 
familiar  form  as  when  presented  to  the  persons  to  whom 
they  are  addressed  ;  they  were  mostly  designed  for  the 
young,  in  order  to  impress  on  their  minds  the  necessity 
of  avoiding  the  paths  of  Folly,  and  choosing  those  of 
"Wisdom,  and  to  encourage  the  orphan  to  trust  in  HIM 
who  has  said  of  these,  "  If  they  at  all  call  upon  ME,  I 
will  hear  them."  Also,  a  sincere,  though  imperfect  me 
morial  of  the  Lord's  gracious  dealings  with  her  as  an 
individual,  and  to  afford  solace  to  those  on  whom  the 
hand  of  sorrow  has  laid  its  (though  profitable,)  most 
unwelcome  grasp.  If  but  one  receives  benefit  by  perusing 


M191841 


IV  DEDICATION. 

them,  she  will  be  fully  recompensed,  and  £uite  reconciled 
to  the  censure  of  the  critic. 

A  few  pieces  are  addressed  to  persons  of  a  different 
character,  such  as  rank  high  in  literary  taste  and  refine 
ment,  to  whom  the  writer  would  present  some  small 
remembrance  of  gratitude  for  kindnesses  received.  (That 
more  of  these  do  not  appear  proceeds  from  the  want  of 
copies  of  the  original  pieces.)  These  noble  spirits  are 
perfectly  convinced  that  she  lays  no  claim  to  these 
attainments — as  through  misfortune,  she  has  only  been 
permitted  to  sip  at  the  fount  of  common  learning — and 
that  peculiar  circumstances  have  influenced  her  to  make 
this  humble  effort ;  and  if  they  see  but  little  to  approve, 
will  not  rashly  censure. 

The  whole  is  interspersed  with  selections  from  differ 
ent  authors,  and  intended  to  embellish  the  volume. 

D.  M.  BENNISON. 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

A  Mother's  Remonstrance,        -  9 

The  Retrospect, 11 

Reminiscences,          -                   -         -         -         -  14 

Letter  1, 19 

Letter  2, 23 

Letter  3,  My  Home, 27 

Midnight  Reflections, 30 

Conversion  of  Justin  Martyn,       -         -         -         -  32 

For  God  so  loved  the  World,  33 

The  one  way  to  Heaven,       -----  36 

Address  to  Mrs.  S.  A.  E.,          -        -        -<       -  37 

Divine  Guidance,         ------  37 

The  Bible,        ...     '  <*.        »       #r  .V>-  38 

Address  to  Mrs.  F.  T.,          -----  39 

Christian  Firmness,           -----  39 

Address  to  W.  T., 40 

The  Bible  the  comfort  of  the  Afflicted,      -         -  40 

A  Fragment,        -------  41 

The  Scriptures, 41 

The  Christian  Preacher's  Resolution,   -         -        -  42 

The  Christian  Church, 43 

To  W.  W«  E., 44 

Lord's  Supper,  44 

Truth, 45 


V1  CONTENTS. 

Page. 

Brotherly  Love, 45 

Behold,  I  shew  you  a  mystery,     -        -        -        -47 

On  Bethany  College,         -----  43 

Farewell  Address  to  Elder  W.  W.  Eaton,     -        -  48 

Reception  of  two  Brethren  into  the  Church,      -  50 

The  Aged  Pilgrim 51 

Address  to  New  Brunswick,     -         -        -         -  52 

To  Portland,  Me., 53 

On  leaving  Portland, 54 

To  Mrs.  W., 55 

To  Miss  M.  E.  C., 56 

Progression,         -        -       ~        -        .        .         .57 

To  Mrs.  S.  H.  T., 58 

Solitude,     -         -         -         .-        .         .         -58 

Christian  Benevolence,     -         -         -        -         -  59 

Christian  Friendship,            -         -         -         _         -  60 

Address  to  Pv.  S.  B., 61 

To  C.  L.  B., 62 

To  E.  B.,         -        -        -        ...        .        .  63 

ToM.  E.  L.  B.,           - 64 

To  M.  B.  B., 66 

To  J.  C.  B., 67 

To  M.  H.  S.  B.,                                  .f)      .        .  68 

To  A.  W.  B., 69 

The  Time  to  Die,     -         -        -,.T  .«  .      -         -  69 

The  Beauties  of  Nature, 71 

The  Rose-Bush,        -        -        •        *        -        -  72 

What  is  Heaven ?         -       >/:•;•>        -        -         -  73 

To  Miss  M.  B., 74 

What  is  life  ?  -        -        -        .        .         .75 

To  Miss  A.  S., 76 

Tour  to  Newbury,       ------  75 

To  a  Friend, 73 

To  New  England,        ------  73 

Mammon,        ----.._  gl 


CONTENTS.  Vll 

Page. 
From  the  German  of  Holty,         -        -        -        -     81 

To  America, 83 

Freedom's  Banner,       ------     83 

Slave's  Musings,       ------         84 

Voice  of  the  Oppressed, 85 

The  Negro,       -------         86 

Universal  Brotherhood,        -        -        -         -         -     87 

Extract  from  Mellen,        -----         88 

The  Brave,         .*-      - 88 

Generosity,      -------89 

Calumny, 90 

Speak  no  111, 90 

Careless  Words, 91 

A  Fragment,    -------92 

Lines  by  Cowper, 93 

Affected  Sensibility, 94 

Conversion  of  David  Dreadnought,  -  -  -  94 
Conversion  of  Mary  Desmond  and  Henry  Mowbray,  96 
Extract  from  the  same,  -  -  -  -  -  97 

Pity  the  Inebriate, 98 

To  Theodore,  on  his  Wedding-Day,       -         -  100 

Lines,  on  Reading  a  Communication,         -         -       102 

Selected, 104 

The  Grave, 106 

What  is  Man? '-          108 

Address  to  Miss  W.  A.  B.,        -         -         -        -       109 

For  an  Album, 109 

For  an  Album, 110 

To  Miss  E.  B., Ill 

For  an  Album,  --_-..  m 
To  Mrs.  S.  C.,  -  -  -  -  -  112 

To  Miss  M.  J.  S.,      -         -         -         -        r         -       112 

To  Miss  M.  K., 113 

To  Miss  A.  W.  S., 114 

To  Miss  A.  C.  T., 115 


Till  CONTENTS. 

Page. 

To  Miss  J.  G.  S., 116 

To  Miss  L.  H., 117 

To  Miss  J.  T., 117 

To  Miss  E.  K.  S., 118 

The  Remonstrance,     -         -  -        -         -119 

The  Pilgrimage, 121 

Lines  recited  at  the  Exhibition  of  the  Blind,     -  123 

Hour  of  Prayer, 124 

Seed  Sowing, 125 

What  Led  her  Footsteps  There,     -         -         -  127 

Hope  Overcoming  Despondency,       -         -         -  128 

ELIGIAC  PIECES, 

On  Mr.  Andrew  Barnes,  -  -  -  -  129 

"  Mrs.  Me  Ninch,  -  -  -  -  -•  -  131 

"  Miss  Mary  Nourse,  "-  -  -  133 

"  A  Child, 134 

"  Mr.  Asa  Wilson,  -  -  -  -  -  136 

"  Thomas  Knott, 137 

"  George  Bennison,  -  -  -  -  -  138 

"  James  S.  Bennison,  -  -  -  -  139 

"  Miss  Whitman, 140 

"  A  Friend, -  142 

Tender  Recollections, 143 


POEMS. 


A  MOTHER'S  REMONSTRANCE. 

Attend  in  youth  to  wisdom's  voice, 
And  make  her  happy  paths  your  choice  ; 
Nor  madly  her  rich  gifts  disdain, 
When  you  these  blessings  may  obtain  ; 
You  need  not  lean  on  earth  for  rest, 
A  broken  reed  it  is  at  best : 
But  often  proves  a  spear  to  those 
Who  on  its  bosom  seek  repose  : 
But  if,  unlike  all  else  below, 
Your  joys  are  never  dashed  with  woe, 
How  short  will  their  duration  be, 
Compared  with  vast  eternity  ! 
Three  score  and  ten,  or  four  score  years, 
When  past,  how  short  the  term  appears  : 
Death's  scythe  spares  none,  but  mows  down  all, 
The  noble,  and  ignoble  fall ; 
The  rich,  the  poor,  the  wise,  the  brave, 
Alike  descend  into  the  grave ; 
And  you  must  yield  yoxir  fleeting  breath, 
Althoiigh  possessed  of  India's  wealth. 
Nor  friends  can  stay  the  Monarch's  hand, 
Though  weeping  'round  your  bed  they  stand, 
Wiping  the  sweat  from  your  cold  brow, 
Would  fain  detain  you  here  below  ; 
Yea !  would  themselves  descend  the  grave, 
If  they  your  precious  life  could  save ; 
*  2 


But  unavailing  is  their  pain, 
Physician's  art  is  also  vain ; 
For  you  the  summons  must  obey, 
And  quit  the  tenement  of  clay. 
What  then  can  dissipate  the  gloom, 
Or  what  can  this  dark  vale  illume  ? 
You  sure  will  need  some  timely  aid, 
To  cheer  that  cold  and  dismal  shade. 

If  you  the  Savior's  love  have  slighted, 

Will  he  deign  your  friend  to  be  ? 

He  has  said,  "  I  will  acknowledge 

Those  who  have  acknowledged  me  ; 

From  the  grave  and  death  I  ransom, 

They  must  yield  to  me  their  prey  ! 

I  will  make  that  dreaded  valley 

Pervious  to  the  realms  of  day. 

Wide  unfold  the  pearly  portals  ! 

Here  's  the  purchase  of  my  pain ; 

These  acknowledged  me  as  sovreign, 

They  with  me  shall  ever  reign. 

Here  's  an  end  of  all  their  sorrows, 

Here  they  lay  their  burdens  down ; 

Through  my  mighty  name  they  've  conquered, 

And  they  shall  receive  their  crown. 

Mine  the  power,  and  mine  the  glory, 

Theirs  the  j  oy  and  victory ; 

None  shall  ever  be  confounded 

Who  have  placed  their  trust  in  me." 

"  Glory  be  to  him  who  loved  us," 

Sounds  through  Heaven's  unbounded  space  ; 

Joy  ecstatic  fills  each  bosom, 

While  they  praise  redeeming  grace  ! 

What  would  these  enraptured  spirits 

Compensate  for  half  their  bliss  ? 

Would  they  forfeit  their  enjoyments 

For  ten  thousand  worlds  like  this  ? 

But  those  joys  none  can  imagine, 

Clouds  and  darkness  veil  the  throne  'T 

As  through  glass  we  see  but  darkly, 

Only  what  the  word  makes  known. 

In  life's  morning  seek  the  Savior. 

It  is  madness  to  delay  ; 


11 

Do  not  barter  your  salvation, 

For  the  trifles  of  a  day. 

Glad  my  heart  with  this  reflection, 

(Ere  the  lamp  of  light  grows  dim  ;) 

You  will  praise  my  God  and  Savior, 

You  will  place  your  hope  on  Him  ! 

When  life's  crimson  flow  is  ceasing, 

Oh !  what  joy  will  this  afford  ! 

Though  in  dust  I'm  doomed  to  moulder, 

You  will  live  to  praise  the  Lord. 

He  's  the  God  of  all  my  mercies, 

He  has  been  my  friend  and  guide ; 

If  you  choose  Him  for  your  portion, 

He  will  for  your  wants  provide. 

Though  life's  joys  are  dashed  with  sorrows, 

He  will  consolation  send  ; 

He  will  be  your  strength  and  refuge, 

And  your  never  failing  friend. 

Through  youth's  paths  He  '11  safely  guide  you, 

And  should  days  and  years  increase, 

He  will  crown  them  all  with  goodness, 

And  their  end  with  lasting  peace. 


THE  RETROSPECT. 

They  told  me  in  my  childhood  hours 
Sorrows  perchance  would  rise, 

And  darken  with  their  saddening  powers, 
My  then  unclouded  skies. 

That  childhood  must  to  youth  give  place, 

And  youth  to  age  resign 
Her  brilliant  glories,  and  my  brow 

With  furrows  deep  entwine  ; — 

"  That  life  was  like  a  mighty  sea, 

And  its  last  billowy  wave 
Would  land  my  slender,  timorous  bark, 

On  lands  beyond  the  grave." 


12 

They  told  me  of  a  tree  of  life, 

And  river  pure  and  clear, 
Where  myriads  of  ransomed  ones, 

In  shining  ranks  appear ; 

Who,  though  of  different  tribes  and  tongues, 

This  one  glad  anthem  raise, — 
"  To  Him  who  saves  us  by  his  blood, 

Be  never  ceasing  praise." 

That  in  those  realms  of  peace  and  joy, 

No  clouds  of  sorrow  rise 
For  one  short  moment  to  obscure 

The  ever-during  skies. 

Even  then,  I  thought  life's  utmost  joys 

Were  scarcely  worth  my  care, 
And  I  would  try  by  righteous  deeds 

To  gain  admittance  there. 

My  every  path  seemed  strewed  with  flowers, 

And  blithe  as  child  could  be, 
My  first  twelve  years  were  nearly  past 

In  sweet  tranquility : 

And  then  I  deeply  realized 

Life  was  a  turbid  sea  ; 
My  bark  by  adverse  winds  was  tossed, 

And  dark  my  destiny. 

And  oft  I  wished  that  time's  last  Avave 

Would  finish  my  career ; 
For  all  below  the  skies  appeared 

A  waste,  most  wild  and  drear ; 

And  had  death  been  a  lasting  sleep, 

Perhaps  uncalled  had  made 
My  exit  from  this  toilsome  world, 

To  its  less  dreaded  shade. 

But  after  death  the  judgment  came, 

And  I  irresolute  stood  ; 
I  feared  the  righteous  scrutiny, 

And  shrunk  from  death's  cold  flood  : 


13 

And  almost  desperate,  resolved 

Again  to  breast  the  wave, 
If  peradventure  Heaven  at  last 

My  hapless  bark  would  save  ; 

When  hope,  bright  "  star  resplendent  rose 

Upon  the  turbid  sea," 
And  pointed  to  serener  skies, 

Where  waves  less  boisterous  be. 

And  as  the  great  Apostle  saw 
A  place  "Three  Taverns  called," 

And  met  his  friends,  and  courage  took, 
By  dangers  unappalled, 

So  I  took  courage,  though  my  path 
Through  rocks  and  quicksands  lay ; 

For  this  bright  star  begemmed  my  skies, 
And  cheered  the  darksome  way. 

With  prayers,  and  faith,  and  rectitude, 

I  wrapt  myself  around, 
And  though  I  met  with  many  a  storm, 

Sweet  calms  I  also  found. 

"  When  to  my  view  a  mountain  rose, 

And  on  its  summit  stood, 
A  standard,  and  a  banner, 

Marked  with  Jesus'  name  in  blood  ! 

I  knew  'twas  Calvary,"  and  approached 
Where  this  rich  banner  waved, 

Became  obedient  to  the  faith, 
And  ranked  among  the  saved.  * 

And  how  I  in  a  slender  bark, 

On  life's  momentous  sea, 
Could  steer  so  long  without  a  chart, 

Seems  very  strange  to  me. 

When  Heaven,  indulgent  to  my  wants, 
This  richest  blessing  gave, 

Mark  xvi.  16. 


14 

To  aid  me  in  my  dark  career, 
Across  the  billowy  wave, 

And  warned  me  should  the  tempest  rise, 

My  anchor  firm  to  cast 
Within  the  vail,  and  I  was  sure 

To  outride  each  rude  blast. 

And  how  this  gentle  beaming  star, 

Still  on  my  pathway  shone, 
When  I  was  ranked  with  those  who  did 

Heaven's  ordinance  disown, — 

Seems  past  all  comprehension,  strange, 

And  I  adoring  bend  ; 
Such  wondrous,  such  amazing  grace ! 

My  powers  of  thought  transcend. 

By  boundless  mercy  safely  brought 

So  far  across  life's  sea, 
The  wonders  Heaven  for  me  has  wrought, 

My  joyful  theme  shall  be. 

Till  of  mortality  released, 

By  death's  propelling  wave, 
My  time-worn,  shattered  bark  is  borne 

To  lands  beyond  the  grave. 


KEMINISENCES. 

How  much  I  need  my  mother's  counsels  kind, 
Her  fond  solicitudes  I  call  to  mind  ; 
Her  accents  kind ;  I  often  ponder  o'er, 
Those  fond  endearments  I  shall  know  no  more. 

But  shall  I  thus  lament,  and  grieve,  and  think  my  lot  se 
vere  ? 

The  trial  's  hard,  and  "  unreproved  nature  may  drop  a 
tear ; " 


15 

Yet  to  God's  will  I  acquiesce,  and  bend  before  his  throne, 
My  blessings  flow  from  his  kind  hand,  he  has  but  claimed 

his  own. 

Help  me  to  trust  in  Thee  !  oh  Lord,  thou  dost  chastise  in  love, 
And  though  I  lose  an  earthly  friend,  my  heavenly  parent 

prove. 

On  Thee  for  succor  I  depend,  and  on  thy  aid  rely, 
And  Thou,  my  best,  my  powerful  friend,  wilt  every  want 

supply ; 

I  know  my  roving  feet  will  err,  unless  restrained  by  Thee  ! 
Oh,  keep  my  inexperienced  feet  from  all  iniquity ; 
Preserve  me  from  the  fowler's  snare,  and  fit  me  for  thy  rest, 
That  when  I  quit  this  earthly  scene,  I  may  among  the  blest 
Be  found,  and  join  that  ceaseless  theme,  chanted  by  those 

above, 
And  while  eternal  ages  roll,  extol  redeeming  love. 

Such  were  the  musings  of  my  pensive  mind, 
And  thus  I  strove  to  hold  hope's  anchor  fast ; 
And  from  the  Sacred  Scriptures  sought  to  find 
A  shelter,  to  secure  me  from  life's  blast, — 
For  I  had  early  learned  youth's  buoyant  wave, 
TJnrippled  by  the  gentlest  zephyr's  breath, 
Could  be  immured  in  indiscretion's  grave, 
By  error's  tempest  hurled  to  hopeless  death. 
For  I  had  seen  my  fondest  hopes  decay, 
Riches  take  wings,  and  friends  to  dust  consigned  ; 
But  hope  still  kept  my  bark  above  the  wave, 
While  I  reflected,  God  is  good  and  kind. 

When  very  young,  I  at  a  burial  scene, 
Heard  one  assert,  "sore  trials  do  await 
Such  as  the  Savior  love,  and  seive  him  here, 
To  fit  them  for  a  holier,  happier  state  ;  " 
And  I  believed  my  mother's  spirit  fled, 
To  those  bright  regions  of  unclouded  bliss, 
And  did  not  wish  to  break  the  ponderous  seal 
Kind  Heaven  had  set  on  such  a  world  as  this. 
Oh,  then  I  grasped  my  anchor  firmer  still ; 
I  hoped  to  meet,  in  those  bright  worlds  of  light, 
My  mother,  and  my  much  loved  sisters,  too, 
And  share  with  them  the  beatific  sight ! 
Blest  wisdom  !  that  conceals  from  mortal  ken, 
The  dark,  dark  vista  of  our  future  years  ; 


16 

That  bids  us  hope  the  sky  will  be  serene, 

Though  overcast  with  clouds  it  now  appears. 

I  said  to  one,  none  knows  a  mother's  loss, 

But  such  as  are  the  trial  called  to  bear ; 

She  said  "  she  'd  take  me  to  her  wealthy  home, 

And  I  should  never  lack  a  mother's  care." 

But  how  unlike  a  mother's  silken  bands, 

Were  the  hard  reins  I  now  was  doomed  to  wear  ; 

How  different  from  a  mother's  accents  kind, 

The  harsh  rebukes  now  grating  on  my  ear. 

For  unaccustomed  to  domestic  toils, 

My  first  twelve  years,  (now  almost  past)  were  spent, 

My  pen,  and  needle,  was  my  loved  employ, 

But  on  my  books  my  mind  was  fully  bent. 

This  pleased  my  mother  :  though  she  sometimes  said 

She  feared  I  was  rather  too  much  inclined 

To  study,  for  the  station  I  must  fill ; 

Yet,  still  indulgent,  gratified  my  mind. 

And  had  she  lived,  arrangements  would  been  made 

That  I  my  much  loved  studies  could  pursue, 

And  by  these  should  a  livelihood  obtain, 

But  now  each  prospect    nd  each  scene  was  new. 

For  hard  indeed  I  found  it  was  to  learn 

Domestic  duties  when  with  grief  oppressed  ; 

And  much  I  tried  the  patience  of  my  friend, 

And  should  have  tried  one  who  much  more  possessed. 

And  wrapt  in  deepest  mystery  profound, 

Seemed  the  dark  pathway  I  was  called  to  tread ; 

"Where  folly  threw  her  poisonous  baits  around, 

By  selfish  views  and  sordid  avarice  led. 

'T  was  then  I  raised  my  streaming  eyes  to  Heaven : 

I  had  been  taught  God  would  regard  my  prayer  ; 

For  in  His  word  sweet  promises  were  given, 

That  He  for  me  would  like  a  mother  care  ; 

For  when  but  yet  a  child,  I  loved  to  read 

How  this  kind  God  his  chosen  people  led ; 

How  He  from  Heaven  their  multitudes  did  feed, 

And  satisfied  their  little  ones  with  bread  ; 

And  hoAv  the  smitten  rock  poured  forth  its  streams, 

And  how  the  cloudy  pillar  led  their  way, 

And  how  the  fiery  pillar's  gladdening  gleams 

Made  their  night  journeyings  wear  the  smiles  of  day. 

"  And  will  this  great  Jehovah  be  my  friend  ? 

"Will  he  protect  me  through  life's  devious  maze  ? 


17 

And  will  he  my  young  sisters,  too,  defend, 

If  we  to  Him  our  supplications  raise  ? " 

Oh  !  had  I  always  thus  my  burden  cast 

On  Him,  who  all-sufficient  is  to  save  ; 

Oh  !  had  I  always  made  his  word  my  chart, 

My  bark  had  always  floated  on  the  wave. 

But  crooked  byroads  I  too  often  made, 

And  round  my  pathway  fierce  temptations  rose  ; 

And  I  so  ignorant,  could  scarce  discern 

My  faithful  friends,  from  my  most  treacherous  foes ; 

For  true  and  faithful  friends  I  always  had, 

Yet  these  oft  injudicious  councils  gave  ; 

Sometimes  I  almost  let  my  anchor  go, 

I  feard  I  never  should  the  storm  outbrave. 

But  time  with  steady  car  was  rolling  on, 

And  near  five  years  with  rapid  pace  had  sped, 

I  sat  me  down  and  mused  upon  the  past, 

As  one  will  sometimes  do  on  time  that 's  fled. 

And  as  I  pondered  o'er  departed  days, 

And  through  deep  memory's  mines  intensely  sought, 

Astonished  at  the  wonderful  displays 

Of  love,  with  which  each  day,  each  hour  were  fraught, 

I  thus  exclaimed :  sure  God  has  heard  my  prayer  ! 

And  deigned  to  mark  the  paths  my  feet  should  tread  ; 

Sure  he  has  made  me  his  peculiar  care, 

And  o'er  my  head  his  sheltering  wing  has  spread  ! 

I  from  this  hour  this  gracious  God  will  serve, 

And  seek  the  peace  his  precious  paths  impart ; 

From  his  blest  statutes  I  no  more  will  swerve, 

Nor  shall  this  trifling  world  engage  my  heart. 

Then,  bending  at  his  footstool,  I  implored 

His  promised  aid  might  now  be  granted  me, 

While  in  his  strength  I  now  made  this  resolve, 

That  His  devoted  servant  I  would  be. 

Oh  !  all- important  crisis  !  when  life's  scales 

Preponderated  thus,^and  gave  me  rest, 

For  heavenly  peace,  with  gentle  balmy  wing, 

Now  animated  my  once  wretched  breast. 

Though  still  exposed  on  time's  momentous  sea, 

"With  no  assurance  that  the  storm  would  cease, 

I  said,  though  rough  these  surging  billows  be, 

They  but  propel  me  to  the  port  of  peace. 

Well,  since  that  time  haVfe  three-ancl-thirty  years, 

Fled  like  night-visions  from  the  waking  sight ; 


18 

Their  joys  and  sorrows,  cares  and  toils  and  fears, 

Are  buried  'neath  oblivion's  changeless  night. 

And  I  look  back  with  wonder  and  amaze, 

Just  as  a  traveller,  who  an  eminence  gains, 

Looks  back,  and  with  astonishment  surveys 

The  path's  he  's  trod,  where  death  and  horror  reigns  ; 

And  rising  midst  yon  well-known  trees,  descries 

His  longed-for  home,  where  he  expects  to  meet 

His  much  loved  friends  with  pleasure  and  surprise, 

And  each  shall  each  with  gladsome  accents  greet. 

13 ut  what  's  an  earthly  home,  and  earthly  friends, 

And  what 's  the  joy  that  fills  the  traveller's  breast, 

Compared  to  that  the  Christian  pilgrim  feels, 

When  he  anticipates  eternal  rest  ? 

Eternal  rest !  soul  animating  sound  ! 

Imagination's  utmost  powers  combined, 

Are  lost  amidst  the  mystery  profound, 

Of  love,  rich  mercy  and  compassion  joined. 

And  I,  as  on  life's  threshold  now  rejoice, 

That  I  have  Jesus  and  his  Gospel  known, 

That  I  have  made  his  peaceful  paths  my  choice, 

And  would  record  his  wondrous  mercies  shown ; 

That  when  death's  icy  hand  shall  stiffened  lay 

These  scribbling  fingers  'neath  the  grassy  sod, 

You,  my  dear  children  each,  may  choose  the  way, 

That  leads  to  Heaven,  and  happiness  and  God ! 

You  need  not  err,  you  have  his  precious  word 

To  instruct,  admonish,  comfort  and  illume  ; 

Thus  aided,  you  may  pass  cheerful  through  life, 

And  calmly  wait  your  summons  to  the  tomb, 

Where  rest  in  dreamless  sleep  the  Christian's  dust, 

'Till  the  last  trump  bid  it  immortal  rise  ; 

Not  one,  who  in  the  name  of  Jesus  trusts, 

Shall  be  forgotten  when  he  rends  the  skies  ; 

All  such  as  have  his  word  believed,  his  name  confessed, 

Before  a  careless  and  gainsaying  world, 

His  word  stands  pledged,  shall  be  pronounced  blessed, 

When  the  new  Heaven  and  earth  shall  be  restored. 

"Behold,"  says  one,  "  a  mystery  I  show  ! 

All  shall  not  sleep,  but  all  must  changed  be," 

When  the  last  trump  shall  sound,  the  dead  shall  rise, 

And  saints  be  clad  with  immortality  ! 

Then  shall  be  brought  to  pass,  Death,  where  '&  thy  sting ! 

And  where  's,  oh,  grave  !  thy  boasted  victory  ! 


19 

LETTER    I. 

TO  MY  SON,  R.  S.  B., 

Who  wrote  me  a  short  Epistle,  because  he  had  nothing 
strange  to  communicate. 

Dear  R 1, 1  was  greatly  pleased  that  you  did  write  to  me, 

And  though  my  time  is  circumscribed,  I  scrawl  some  lines 
to  thee. 

Your  letter  was  by  far  too  brief,  though  nothing  strange  you 
view, 

Methinks  you  could  your  paper  fill,  and  yet  write  nothing 
new ; 

Though  here  some  strange  events  occur,  they  're  quite  un 
known  to  me, 

Because  I  seldom  go  abroad,  those  strange  events  to  see ; 

And  no  one  cares  to  fetch  me  news,  because  I  've  none  to 
tell  ;— 

'T  is  fortunate  that  I  can  do  without  strange  news  so  well. 

But  I  will  write  of  something  strange,  and  marvellous  to 
view, 

Which,  though  it  happened  years  ago,  yet  still  is  strange 
and  new. 

So  strange,  it  fills  the  heavenly  host  with  wonder  and 
amaze, 

And  which  they  fain  would  look  into,  with  a  perpetual 
gaze; 

And,  though  they  cannot  comprehend  the  mystery  of  that 
grace, 

Which,  while  it  passed  fallen  angels  by,  redeemed  our  help 
less  race ; 

Yet,  when  the  high  command  is  given,  "fall  prostrate,  an 
gels,  fall !  " 

Not  one  discordant  note  is  heard,  but  all  His  love  extol ; 

Yet  strange,  most  lamentably  strange,  man  will  not  homage 

Pa7> 
But  spurn  this  precious,  precious   gift,  and  cast  the  aid 

away. 
And  are  the  thunderbolts  withheld  ?      Yes,  justice  lingers 

now, 
And  the  uplifted  sword  reversed  by  mercy's  smiling  brow. 


Mortals  may  wonder  and  adore,  but  may  not  try  to  scan, 
The  great,  the  amazing  mystery, — the  love  of  God  to  man  ! 
Yet,  all  in  this  stupendous  grace,  my  equal  sharers  be, 
Because  the  precious  Savior  said,    "  let  sinners  come   to 

me." 
Unto  the  green  earth's  utmost  verge  thus  runs  the  great 

decree : 

"  I  will  in  no  wise  cast  you  out,  ye  sinners  come  to  me." 
And  farther  yet  the  grace  extends,  than  to  where  the  green 

grass  grows, 
Even  to  Arabia's  burning  sands,  and  Lapland's  mountain 

snows. 

Oh  strange,  inexplicably  strange  !  surpassing  all  the  view, 
Yes,  while  eternal  ages  roll,  the  theme  will  still  be  new. 
Though  brief  your  letter,  this  resolve  pleased  me  exceed 
ingly, 
"That  you  for  liquor's  moderate  use  would  not  a  pleader 

be." 

I  cannot  tell  you  half  the  joy  this  oft  affords  my  mind, 
That  you  to  strict  sobriety  have  always  been  inclined  ; 
Or  what  would  be  the  dire  effect,  if  I  should  ever  see 
One  of  my  children  e'er  be  swayed  by  alcohol's  tyranny  ; 
And  if  you  never  touch  the  bait,  it  cannot  be  your  bane, 
It  is  through  liquor's  moderate  use  so  many  have  been 

slain ; 

I  wrote  some  lines  sometime  ago,  descriptive  of  the  ill, 
And  as  I  've  little  else  to  write,  they  shall  this  paper  fill. 


It  was  a  winter's  eve,  and  very  cold, 

"When  William  J.  who  scarce  was  six  years  old, 

Came  running  home,  for  bread  he  now  did  want, 

"Who  ne'er  before  of  bread  had  been  thus  scant ; 

On  his  sad  father  once  fair  fortune  smiled, 

For  he  had  been  a  rich  man's  only  child ; 

But  ah  !  o'er  him  intemperance  prevailed, 

And  with  his  business,  all  his  money  failed  ; 

His  credit,  too,  for  the  good  grocer  said, 

"  He  'd  trust  no  more,  'till  the  old  score  was  paid." 

Next  to  the  baker  the  poor  child  was  sent, 

But  here,  his  father's  credit,  too,  was  spent ; 

The  baker  said  his  bread  he  could  not  give, 

And  by  such  customers  he  could  not  live  ; 


21 

"  What  shall  we  do  ? "  said  he  to  Mrs.  J., 

(Who  once  had  been  the  gayest  of  the  gay) 

"  Perhaps  my  dear  pappa  will  soon  come  home  ; 

If  he  has  money  he  will  give  us  some." 

She  did  not  wish  her  nearest  friends  to  know 

Her  husband's  credit  was  so  very  low  ; 

She  hoped  that  Power  who  hears  the  ravens  cry, 

Would  by  some  means  their  urgent  wants  supply. 

From  the  dear  child  she  strove  to  hide  her  tears, 

Also,  her  many,  very  many  fears  ; 

She  wished,  and  yet  she  feared  Henry  to  gee, 

For  oft  he  treated  her  with  tyranny ; 

And  though  he  said  of  this  he  did  not  know, 

Yet  more  than  once  had  given  her  a  blow. 

In  a  short  time  poor  Henry  J.  came  home, 

"Oh,  dear  Pappa,  I'm  very  glad  you've  come, 

For  I  want  bread,"  the  little  William  cries. 

"  I  cannot  help  your  wants,"  poor  J.  replies, 

"  Here's  all  I  have,  go  fetch  a  pint  of  rum, 

And  if  you  're  smart,  my  boy,  I  '11  give  you  some." 

"  Oh,  do  not  send  him  out,  't  is  very  cold, 

His  little  hands  can  scarce  the  bottle  hold ; 

'T  is  slippery,  too,  he  cannot  keep  his  feet, 

Oh,  do  not  send  the  child  into  the  street." 

"  Come,  hold  your  prating,  hold  your  tongue,  I  say, 

He  could  go  very  well,  were  it  to  play  ; 

This  is  the  reason  I  so  often  roam, 

I  never  have  a  moment's  peace  at  home  ; 

In  my  own  house,  I  say,  I'll  have  command," 

Says  Henry  J.  with  an  uplifted  hand. 

"Ah  !  do  not  strike  my  dear  ma',  and  I  '11  go, 

I  do  not  care  how  hard  the  wind  does  blow ; 

Can't  hold  the  bottle  !  yes  indeed  I  can, 

I  '11  go  and  fetch  it  like  a  little  man." 

"Ah,  ah  my  boy,  you  courage  have,  I  see, 

And  will  not  by  your  mother  spoiled  be ; 

Here  's  all  I  have,  go  fetch  a  pint  of  rum, 

And  if  you're  smart,  my  boy,  I  '11  give  you  some." 

William  goes  out  and  comes  again  in  haste, 

But  of  the  offered  rum  he  will  not  taste ; 

The  father  drinks,  and  will  not  go  to  bed, 

But  on  the  floor  reclines  his  sottish  head. 

No  longer  can  poor  Fanny  hide  her  grief, 

And  flowing  tears  afford  but  sad  relief. 


22 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  ah,  whither  shall  I  go  ? 

How  can  I  bear  this  dreadful  weight  of  woe  ?  " 

"  Where  will  you  go,  mamma  ?  why,  go  to  bed, 

And  on  the  pillow  lay  your  poor,  poor  head  ; 

And  I  "11  go,  too,  and  'I  will  warm  your  feet, 

Perhaps  to-morrow  we  '11  have  bread  to  eat." 

The  wretched  Fanny  clasps  him  to  her  breast, 

"  I  wish,  my  dear,  we  were  in  Heaven  at  rest." 

"  Mamma,  you  say  Heaven  is  a  place  of  bliss, 

And  quite  unlike  a  wicked  world  like  this. 

Are  there  no  bad  folks  there  ? "    "  My  dear  child,  no  !  " 

"  Where  !  Oh  where  then  will  my  dear  Pa'  go  ? 

He  drinks,  he  says  bad  words,  he  never  prays, 

He  cannot  go  there  with  such  wicked  ways." 

"William,  my  darling  child,  come  go  to  bed, 

I  've  fixed  the  pillow  for  your  little  head." 

The  child  steps  in  and  quickly  falls  asleep, 

The  wretched  mother  's  left  alone  to  weep : 

She  takes  a  retrospect  of  years  gone  by, 

When  first  the  youthful  Henry  met  her  eye  ; 

When  he  was  sober,  generous  and  kind, 

Adorned  with  beauty,  riches,  wit,  and  taste  refined,— 

Ah,  who  would  then  have  thought  that  Henry  J., 

Would  thus  a  victim  to  intemperance  lay  ? 

"I  cannot  wake  him,  neither  can  I  bear 

To  go  to  bed  and  leave  him  sleeping  there  ; 

Ah  !  no  ;  I  '11  wait  until  returning  day 

When  sleep  has  chased  the  fumes  of  drink  away ; 

And  then  I  '11  tell  him  what  poor  William  said, 

I  '11  tell  him,  too,  the  child  has  cried  for  bread." 

While  thus  she  mused,  a  groan,  a  lengthened  sigh, 

And  Henry,  struggling,  caught  her  anxious  eye  : 

She  quickly  rose,  and  fondly  raised  his  head, 

But  ah,  alas  !  the  vital  spark  had  fled. 

Ah,  ye  who  plead  for  moderate  drinking  now, 

Here  lies  a  laurel  to  adorn  each  brow  ; 

Here,  lies  a  man  who  once  like  you  could  plead, 

A  little  liquor's  good  when  we  have  need, — 

When  we  're  cold,  or  when  we  're  very  warm, 

A  little  spirits  sure  can  do  no  harm ; 

The  man  who  cannot  take  a  glass  of  wine, 

Must  sure  be  weak, — that  weakness  is  not  mine. 

Ah,  show  me  one,  o'er  whom  intemperance  reigns, 

To  whom  moderate  drinking  has  not  furnished  chains  ; 


23 

Ah,  show  me  one  to  drink  a  devotee, 

Who  ever  thought  that  thus  the  case  would  be. 

Oh,  moderate  drinkers,  't  is  on  you  I  call, 

Before  you  in  this  dreadful  vortex  fall ; 

Here  bring  your  brandy,  porter,  ale  and  wine, 

And  cast  all  down  before  this  mighty  shrine  ; 

Oh,  come,  and  to  these  rules  subscribe  each  name, 

And  try  to  make  your  neighbors  do  the  same, 

And  use  your  utmost  efforts  to  extend, 

The  benefit  to  foe  as  well  as  friend. 

And  advocates  of  total  abstinence,  hear, 

In  this  your  work  of  mercy  persevere, 

You  cannot  tell  what  blessings  may  accrue, 

Or  what  the  ills  prevented  thus  by  you  ; 

Nor  need  you  the  vain  scoffers'  words  regard, 

For  in  your  own  breast  you  have  a  sure  reward  ; 

The  cause  is  good,  let  not  yoiir  courage  fail, 

And  you  will  most  assuredly  prevail. 


LETTER    IT. 

TO  MY  SON  C.  L.  B. 

As  you,  my  son,  have  chosen  for  to  roam, 

Far  from  your  native  land,  your  friends,  and  home  : 

I  must  lament  the  sad,  sad  destiny, 

And  oft  my  heart  will  bleed  to  think  of  thee. 

But  hope  that  cheers  affliction's  saddest  hour, 

With  its  benign  exhilarating  power, 

Affords  me  solace,  bids  me  cease  to  mourn, 

For  I  again  shall  see  my  son  return. 

To  tell  me  Jacob's  God  has  been  your  stay, 

Shielded  in  danger,  pointed  out  your  way", 

Has  given  you  bread  to  eat,  raiment  to  wear, 

And  deigned  to  make  you  his  peculiar  care  ; 

From  sins  sad  bondage  given  sweet  release, — 

Has  heard  your  prayers,  has  filled  your  breast  with 

peace, 

And  Jacob-like,  you  will  an  altar  raise, 
To  Jacob's  God  devote  your  future  days ; 


24 

Hope  glances  farther  through  succeeding  days, 

Each  crowned  with  mercy,  each  re-echoing  praise, 

'Till  life's  horizon  fading  from  my  view, 

Reminds  me  I  must  bid  my  son  adieu — 

Anticipating  you  will  useful  be, 

When  moulders  all  that  mortal  is  of  me. 

But  should  I  thus  anticipate  in  vain, 

Should  I  on  earth  ne'er  see  my  son  again, 

Oh,  let  me  meet  you  near  the  eternal  throne, 

Where  tears  and  farewells  are  alike  unknown. 

And  now  methinks  you  wish  from  home  to  hear ; 
When  absent  from  it,  all  at  home  seems  dear. 
Many  events  would  interesting  be, 
If  I  had  time  to  scrawl  them  all  for  thee. 

Dear  Mrs.  L n,  still  exists  in  pain, 

And  for  her  aid  physician's  arts  seem  vain. 

All  the  Miss  S.'s  are  still  kind  and  well, 

And  grand'ma  lives  of  youthful  days  to  tell ; 

Aged  and  feeble,  and  sometimes  in  pain, 

'T  is  still  her  motto,  I  must  not  complain  ; 

But  surely  ought  to  very  thankful  be, 

That  God  has  dealt  so  graciously  with  me. 

Sarah  and  George  S.,  are  in  wedlock  joined, 

Hoping  each  may  in  each  a  helpmeet  find ; 

More  of  your  friends  would  wed,  if  they  could  find 

Persons  with  riches,  beauty,  sense,  and  taste  refined. 

I  often  wish  our  youthful  ones  were  wise, 

Would  spurn  earth's  joys  for  those  above  the  skies  ; 

That  when  their  youthful  bloom  they  shall  resign, 

With  wisdom's  lustre  decked,  they  still  may  shine  ; 

I  oft  compare  them  to  the  lovely  flowers, 

Blooming  unconscious  of  receding  hours. 

Like  these,  their  youthful  bloom  will  soon  decay  ; 

Time's  withering  hand  now  marks  them  for  his  prey  ; 

And  soon  they  must  to  his  rude  sceptre  bend, 

Perhaps  they  '11  then  think  of  their  scribbling  friend, 

Who  wished  them  to  obey  fair  wisdom's  voice, 

And  make  her  happy,  peaceful  paths  their  choice  ; 

But  ah,  what  trifles  occupy  the  mind, 

How  many  things  to  vex  us  here  we  find. 

The  mirror  my  late  father  to  me  gave, 
Which  I  desired  while  life  should  last  to  save, 


25 

Was  lately  broken,  and  it  did  me  grieve, 
Because  I  did  it  from  his  hands  receive  ; 
Not  for  the  mirror,  that  replaced  could  be, 
But  not  by  him  who  gave  that  one  to  me. 
And  thus,  thought  I,  all  earthly  joys  decay, 
Like  brittle  glass  they  quickly  pass  away. 
A  few  short  years  and  I  shall  also  be 
Like  him  who  gave  this  brilliancy  to  me  ; 
A  spirit  severed  from  this  clay  abode, 
Standing  before  its  Maker  and  its  God  ! 
Ah,  what  is  life,  stretched  to  its  utmost  span  ! 
And  how  mysterious  is  the  mind  of  man  ! 
Formed  to  enjoy  immortal  happiness, 
But  fondly  clinging  to  a  world  like  this. 
A  happy  few  embrace  fair  wisdom's  ways, 
Their  Maker  love,  and  their  Redeemer  praise, 
And  sweetly  prove  religion's  paths  are  peace, 
Affording  solace  when  earth's  comforts  cease. 

Nothing  sectarian  suits  your  father's  mind, 
He  to  no  human  system  is  inclined  ; 
He  takes  no  interest  in  polemic  strife, 
But  grounds  his  faith  upon  the  word  of  lifo. 
He  says,  that  "  all  to  whom  this  word  is  sent, 
Should  it  believe,  and  of  their  sins  repent ; 
Then  to  the  water-side  with  speed  repair, 
And  be  immersed,  as  the  first  Christians  were, 
Into  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ  the  Lord, 
Who  will  to  them  all  needful  aid  afford." 
Also,  "  His  word  is  a  sufficient  guide, 
And  Christians  need  no  rules,  or  laws  beside." 
So  you  need  not  these  famed  discussions  send, 
To  him  't  is  immaterial  which  defend 
With  strongest  arguments  his  favorite  creed, 
If  he  neglect  Jehovah's  laws  to  heed. 

At  our  last  temperance  meeting,  ninety  more 
Added  their  names  to  theirs  who  joined  before, 
To  exert  their  utmost  efforts  to  destroy 
Intemperance,  that  bane  to  peace  and  joy ; 
I  was  not  there,  but  heard  some  persons  say, 
The  cause  was  advocated  by  Mr.  Gray, 
Who,  portraying  intemperate  ills  to  view, 
Said,   "  Moderate  drinkers,  ah,  I  feel  for  you  ! 
3 


26 

Come,  aid  the  noble  cause  for  which  I  plead, 
For  moderate  drinking,  surely  there's  no  need/' 
Not  as  Elijah  in  the  days  of  yore 
Stood  the  good  man,  alone  these  evils  to  deplore, 
But  many  helpers  joined  with  heart  and  hand, 
To  banish  alcohol  from  our  happy  land. 

Soon  those  called  total  abstainers  will  meet, 

And  of  all  rules,  theirs  is  the  most  complete  ; 

They  will  not  take  a  single  glass  of  wine, 

But  cast  all  down  before  this  mighty  shrine  ; 

Your  worthy  father  joins  this  noble  band, 

Determined  for  to  make  a  valiant  stand 

Against  the  foe,  and  cause  it  to  retreat, 

From  town  and  country,  house,  shop,  store  and  street ; 

I  oft  deplored  alcohol's  tyranny, 

But  never  did  expect  such  days  to  see, 

When  male  and  female,  son  as  well  as  sire, 

Against  the  tyrant's  reign  should  thus  conspire. 

I  sometimes  think  I  should  delight  to  see 

The  happy  land  of  my  nativity. 

Land  of  my  childhood  !  there  my  father  smiled, 

And  there  my  mother  kissed  her  happy  child  ; — 

Even  the  old  ruins  Avould  be  dear  to  me, 

Before  whose  door  once  stood  the  apple  tres. 

Memory  will  still  retrace  those  happy  days, 

Although  succeeding  ones  demand  my  praise  ; 

And  friends,  and  blessings  in  a  stranger's  land, 

Has  Providence  bestowed  with  bounteous  hand. 

When  Mr.  and  Mrs.  D ,  again  you  see, 

Present  my  thanks  for  kindnesses  to  thee  ; 
And  to  every  one,  unknown  as  well  as  known, 
Who  have  to  the  down-easter  kindness  shown. 
Now  for  a  season  I  shall  cease  to  rhyme  : — 
Do  not  neglect  to  write  when  you  have  time, — 
Praying  Heaven's  rich  blessing  may  descend  on  you, 
Once  more,  my  son,  your  mother  scrawls  adieu. 


27 


MY  HOME. 

An  Extract  —  Selected. 

There  am  I  loved,  there  prayed  for  ;  there  my  mother 
Sits  by  the  hearth,  with  meek  and  thoughtful  eye  ; 
There  my  young  sisters  watch  to  meet  their  brother, 
Soon  their  young  footsteps  down  the  path  you  '11  spy. 


LETTER   III. 

TO  MY  SON,  E.  S.  B. 

I  write  to  inform  you  that  I  'm  pretty  well, 
Also  your  friends  who  in  the  city  dwell, 

Except  brother  E ,  who  often  does  complain 

Of  weaknesses,  'though  not  of  acute  pain ; 
Margaret  the  fair,  and  sisters,  too,  are  well, 
And  James,  who  has  returned  home  to  dwell 
For  a  short  season,  for  he  seems  to  be 
Determined  still  to  plough  the  boisterous  sea ; 
To  wisdom's  ways  he  has  not  yet  inclined, 
But  worldly  pleasures  quite  engross  his  mind ; 
When  will  the  Savior's  tender  mercies  move 
Each  youthful  heart  to  seek  his  boundless  love  ? 

*  What  pains  men  take  important  posts  to  obtain, 

That  wealth  and  worldly  honors  they  may  gain  ; 

Early  they  rise,  and  late  to  rest  retire, 

To  obtain  the  portion  they  so  much  desire ; 

But,  when  they  're  offered  an  immortal  crown, 

What  carelessness,  what  heedlessness  is  shown, 

Perhaps  it  may  be  so,  I  may  be  saved, 

And  thus  the  path  to  endless  ruin  's  paved  ; 

Not  so  the  great  Apostle,  he  thus  spake, 

"I  count  all  else  but  dross,  for  Jesus's  sak  ," 

*  Written  at  the  time  of  choosing  city  officers. 


28 

His  letters  to  the  churches  make  it  plain, 

He  earthly  crowns  and  honors  did  disdain  ; 

His  earth-abstracted  hopes  were  fixed  on  high, 

On  crowns  unfading  his  aspiring  eye. 

Hear  him  exult  that  not  for  him  alone, 

Those  crowns  were  purchased,  and  this  mercy  shown, 

But  that  this  rich,  this  most  abundant  grace, 

Was  freely  offered  to  our  helpless  race. 

The  Gospel  rapidly  is  gaining  ground, 

And  many  through  it  have  salvation  found  ; 

In  lands  not  far  remote,  recently  came 

Three  hundred,  and  confessed  the  Savior's  name  ; 

But  here,  alas  !  those  called  the  good  and  wise, 

These  truths  contemn,  and  these  pure  laws  despise ; 

They  enter  not  themselves  into  the  fold, 

And  those  who  would,  their  counsels  oft  withhold. 

But  prejudice  begins  to  wear  away, 

And  some,  even  here,  the  Savior  dare  obey. 

Since  I  last  wrote,  four  persons  forward  came, 

And  were  immersed  into  the  Savior's  name. 

The  morn  was  fair,  while  splendid  sunbeams  gave 

A  grandeur  to  the  consecrated  wave  ; 

Wondering  I  gazed,  my  breast  with  ardor  glowed, 

And  busy  thought  awhile  ranged  uncontroled. 

Those  thoughts  collected,  and  the  facts  combined, 

For  your  improvement  I  recall  to  mind, 

And  to  you  send,  arrayed  in  humble  verse, 

And  you  to  others  may  these  facts  reherse. 

Again  assembled  on  the  wave-washed  strand, 

By  Heaven's  canopy  encurtained  o'er, 

See  the  disciples  of  the  Savior  stand, 

And  their  Redeemer  and  their  God  adore  ; 

Hear  a  proclaimer  thus  the  crowd  address  : 

"This  day  we  come  to  honor  Zion's  king, 

He,  who  himself  fulfilled  all  righteousness, 

Bade  to  the  water  penitents  thus  bring. 

And  they,  believing  him  the  Son  of  God, 

And  that  he  died  for  all  their  sins  to  atone, 

Resolve  to  follow  where  his  footsteps  trod, 

And  for  salvation  trust  in  him  alone. 

And  buried  with  him  'neath  the  yielding  wave, 

And  thus  immersed  into  his  powerful  name, 

Shall  find  he  all-sufficient  is  to  save, 

And  will  not  put  their  humble  hopes  to  shame.       • 


29 

And  do  you  thus  believe  r "  addressing  each. ; 

"  I  do  believe  that  Jesus  is  the  Lord, 

And  would  obey  all  his  apostles  teach  ; 

My  hopes  of  pardon  centres  in  his  -word." 

"  13y  his  authority  whom  you  confess, 

"You  are  immersed  into  the  name  of  Father,  Son,  and 

Holy  Ghost;" 

And  of  the  water  and  the  spirit  born, 
The  name  of  Jesus  is  their  joyful  boast. 
Oh,  praise  the  Lord  !  exalted  be  his  name  ! 
"Who  thus  ennobles,  thus  exalts  our  race, 
Let  each  disciple  celebrate  his  fame, 
Let  each  adore  the  mystery  of  his  grace. 

And  you,  who  dare  assert  such,  disbelieve, 

When  they  thus  publicly  their  faith  confess, 

Show  us  such  proofs  that  you  the  word  receive,* 

And  we  '11  not  doubt  Jehovah's  power  to  bless, 

But  will  acknowledge  you  co-heirs  with  Him, 

Whose  word  omnific,  Heaven's  blue  curtains  wrought, 

Who  fixed  yon  shining  orbit  'midst  the  spheres, 

And  out  of  nothing,  earth's  fair  fabric  brought. 

And  you,  with  us  shall  taste  a  Savior's  love, 

And  with  us,  too,  assemble  'round  his  board  ; 

With  us  anticipate  the  joys  above, 

Where  he  more  perfectly  shall  be  adored  : 

And  as  you  journey  through  life's  devious  maze, 

Where  joys  alternately,  and  sorrows  rise, 

Each  eve  will  bring  fresh  causes  for  his  praise, 

Each  rising  morn  a  thankful  sacrifice  ; 

When  death  approaches  with  his  dreaded  train, 

And  nature  sinks,  and  earthly  hopes  expire, 

His  presence  shall  your  feeble  souls  sustain, 

His  word  impart  the  aid  you  then  require  ; 

And  when  the  great  Arch  Angel's  trump  shall  sound, 

And  from  their  long  repose  the  dead  arise, 

Your  quickened  dust  shall  burst  the  gloom  profound, 

With  glory  decked,  and  filled  with  glad  surprise  ; 

And  join  the  faithful  who  on  earth  remain, 

When  Zion's  king  these  lofty  skies  shall  rend, 

With  them  the  heights  of  glory  to  attain, 

And  endless  ages  in  his  presence  spend. 

As  many  as  received  the  word  were  baptised.— Acts  of  the  Apostles. 


30 

These  prospects  cheer  with  a  pure  fadeless  ray, 
The  Christian  Pilgrim's  humble,  happy  breast, 
More  than  magnetic  influence  speeds  their  way, 
And  on  they  hasten  to  eternal  rest. 
But  you,  my  son,  do  not  these  things  despise, 
Nor  do  you  doubt  the  goodness  of  the  Lord  ; 
Then  show  me  where  the  weighty  hindrance  lies, 
That  keeps  you  from  submitting  to  his  word  ? 

This  day  completes  my  eight-and-fortieth  year  ; 
And  as  I  retrospect  the  years  that  's  fled, 
My  youthful  days  devoted  to  his  fear, 
Afford  me  solace  though  their  joys  have  fled; 
And  though  I  have  much  reason  to  lament 
That  I  've  been  so  unfaithful  to  his  grace, 
Yet  I  'm  his  servant,  and  his  word  declares, 
That  such  as  serve  Him  shall  behold  his  face. 
Soon  will  these  scribbling  fingers  cease  to  move, 
These  thinking  powers  their  energies  resign ; 
Accept  this  small  memorial  of  my  love, 
Perhaps  the  last  that  you  '11  receive  of  mine. 

ADIEU. 


MIDNIGHT  REFLECTIONS. 

VOICE    OF    MISSPENT    TIME. 

"Thou  for  each  squandered  hour  must  give  account ! 
And  squandered  minutes  serve  to  increase  their  amount,- 
Then  prithee,  hearken,  and  of  wisdom  learn  ; 
And  time's  improvement  make  thy  grand  concern," 
Lest  thou,  like  one  of  yore,  be  found  too  light, 
When  in  the  balance  weighed,  and  sink  in  night. 

REPLY. 

Tell  me  !  Oh  tell  me,  ghost  of  murdered  hours, 
Why  thus  my  quiet,  peaceful  hours  molest  ? 
Why  haunt  my  foot-steps  with  intrusive  powers? 
Why  force  reflection  on  my  careless  breast  r 


31 

'T  is  true,  of  hours  is  formed  the  term  assigned 

To  me,  immortal  life  to  lose,  or  gain  ; 

But  I  've  long  ago  made  up  my  mind 

This  most  important  blessing  to  obtain. 

Yes,  when  the  buoyancy  of  youth  is  fled, 

Thy  squandered  benefits  I  will  redeem, 

And  o'er  life's  path  a  brilliant  lustre  shed, 

For  sacred  wisdom  shall  be  all  my  theme. 

Or  should  life's  term  not  thus  protracted  be, 

Should  sickness  seize,  death  throw  his  well  poised  dart, 

I  will  lament  that  I  have  squandered  thee, 

So  ghost  of  murdered  hours  from  me  depart. 

Not  long  ago  a  youth  our  circle  graced, 

Who  ne'er  to  sacred  wisdom  was  inclined, 

Who  on  the  Savior's  word  no  credence  placed, 

But  worldly  pleasures  quite  engrossed  his  mind ; 

When  called  these  interesting  scenes  to  leave, 

And  to  consumption's  power  his  health  resign, 

Never  appeared  at  all  inclined  to  grieve, 

But  still  Avith  folly's  votaries  would  join  ; 

When  those  who  loved  him,  (for  he  was  beloved) 

Saw  on  his  pallid  cheek  the  hectic  glow, 

Presaging  he  from  earth  would  be  removed, 

They  feared  the  lea  at  disquietude  to  show ; 

Yet,  when  the  dreaded  messenger  drew  nigh, 

No  ghost  of  murdered  hours  haunted  his  breast ; 

Because  he  must,  he  was  resigned  to  die, 

And  quickly  pass  to  perfect  happiness. 

And  sure  he  now  inherits  perfect  bliss, 

For  the  good  rector  thanked  his  gracious  God, 

Who  called  his  servant  from  a  world  like  this, 

And  prayed  devoutly  equal  grace  be  showed 

To  others,  'till  the  highly  favored,  the  elect, 

Should  all  be  called  his  glorious  face  to  see, 

And  in  his  prayers  an  interest  I  expect ; 

So  ghost  of  murdered  hours,  depart  from  me. 

How  my  soul  sickens  when  fanatics  say 

The  mighty  Lord,  all-powerful  to  save, 

Without,  expects  men  should  his  laws  obey, 

If  they  would  rise  triumphant  from  the  grave, 

And  join  the  general  anthem  of  the  skies  ; 

With  energetic  zeal  I  these  oppose, 

For  I  this  doctrine  heartily  despise, 

As  all  my  conduct  evidently  .shows. 


32 

Admit  their  statements,  and  my  hopes  are  vain, 

For  I  to  these  requirements  will  not  bend ; 

But  am  determined,  still  with  folly's  train, 

My  youthful  days  in  merriment  to  spend ; 

And  then  at  last  receive  immortal  bliss  ! 

A  monument  of  sovereign  grace  alone  ; 

Oh,  what  a  theme  for  angel  harps  were  this, 

That  God,  a  worthless  sinner  thus  should  own : 

And  me  reward  as  those  who  did  him  serve  ; 

His  son  acknowledged,  and  confessed  his  name, 

"Who  gave  themselves  to  Him  without  reserve, 

And  for  his  sake  endured  reproach  and  shame. 

'T  is  true,  there  's  not  a  promise  in  God's  holy  word, 

For  such  as  wilfully  his  laws  reject ; 

But  there  are  those  by  far  more  wise  than  me, 

Who  heed  them  not,  yet  endless  life  expect. 

Then  tell !  oh  tell  me,  ghost  of  murdered  hours, 

Why  thus  annoy  me,  thus  disturb  my  rest  ? 

Why  haunt  my  footsteps  with  intrusive  powers  ? 

Why  force  reflection  on  my  careless  heart  r 


CONVERSION  OF  JUSTIN  MARTYN. 

FROM   THE    LATIN. 

Justin  one  day  was  walking  down  by  the  sea  shore, 
Of  Plato's  famed  doctrines,  was  thus  pondering  o'er ; 
How  richly  sublime  were  the  maxims  he  taught, 
And  with  pure  enjoyments  his  precepts  are  fraught. 
Not  long  he  thus  mused,  when  a  sage*  passed  that  way, 
No  wisdom  's  like  Plato's  the  strippling  did  say  ; 
Ere  Plato  existed,  the  old  man  replied, 
Some  persons  called  patriarchs,  and  prophets,  descried 
Light  from  the  pure  Logos,  which  brought  to  their  view, 
Enjoyments  of  wisdom,  which  Plato  ne'er  knew. 
Examine  their  writings,  and  pray  for  true  light, 
If  you  would  be  led  in  the  paths  that  are  right ; 

*  Supposed  to  be  Potycarp. 


33 

In  language  most  feeling  the  sage  did  portray 
The  rich  Gospel  blessings,  then  vent  on  his  way. 
Justin  saw  him  no  more,  but  labored  to  find 
That  light  which  now  shed  its  pure  rays  o'er  his  mind, 
And  owned  what  Socrates,  or  Plato  had  taught, 
Was  ne'er  with  such  reason,  and  philosophy  fraught ; 
And  an  able,  bold  champion  for  Christianity  became, 
And  enrolled  among  martyrs  we  see  Justin's  name. 


«  FOR  GOD  SO  LOVED  THE  WORLD  THAT 
HE  GAVE  HIS  SON." 

"  So  he  drove  out  the  man,  and  he  placed  at  the  east  of  the  garden 
of  Eden,  cheruhims,  and  a  flaming  sword,  which  turned  every  way  to 
keep  the  way  of  the  tree  of  life." 

Cherubims,  and  a  naming  sword,  obstruct  the  way  to  heav 
enly  bliss ; 

Lo  !  every  way  it  turns,  to  keep  poor  helpless  man  from  hap 
piness. 

No  angel  power  can  it  remove,  nor  all  the  tribes  of  Adam 
slain — 

Rivers,  yea,  seas  might  now  with  blood,  that  blood  be  spilt, 
and  flow  in  vain. 

What  can  redeem  our  helpless  race  ?  can  angel  minds  a  plan 
devise  ? 

In  pondering  lost,  no  plan  appears  to  raise  a  rebel  to  the 
skies  ! 

Behold  the  Son  of  God  descend  !  He  takes  our  curse,  He 
bears  our  load ; 

See  Him  extended  on  the  tree  !  He  seals  our  pardon  with 
his  blood  ! 

Behold  earth  to  its  centre  quake,  rocks  rend,  the  sun  forbear 
to  shine ! 

A  heathen  strike  his  breast,  convinced  the  illustrious  suffer 
er  is  divine  ! 

Not  so,  the  unrelenting  Jews  ;  they  to  the  Governor  repair, 

Saying,  "  Sir,  this  great  deceiver  said,  no  tomb  should  keep 
his  body  here, 


On  the  third  day  he  would  arise,  a  joyful  victor  o'er  the 

grave  ; 
Lest  his  disciples  steal  his  corse,  we  come  to  thee  a  guard  to 

crave." 
"My  soldiers  are  at  your  command  —  let  these  his  burial 

place  surround ; 
And  certain  death  shall  be  their  lot,  if  his  disciples  there  are 

found." 

They  make  the  sepulchre  secure,  but  from  its  precincts  Je 
sus  rose, 
And  through  his  chosen  ones  proclaimed  life  and  salvation 

to  his  foes. 
"  Go,  publish  this  amazing  grace  !   and  all  who  do  believe 

your  word, 
And  are  immersed  into  my  name,  and  me  acknowlege  for 

their  Lord, 
Such  shall  be  saved ;  while  those  who  hear,  but  disbelieve 

what  you  proclaim, 
Shall  be  condemned.     Go,  hasten  hence,  publish  salvation 

through  my  name ; 
Yo'u  need  not  fear  surrounding  foes  ;  'till  this  state  ends  I'll 

be  with  you." 
When  lo  !  a  most  luminous  cloud  concealed  Him  from  the 

rapturous  view. 
Ye  pearly  portals,  wide  unfold!      Ye  seraphs  strike  the 

tuneful  chord  ! 
Let  Heaven's  unbounded  space  be  filled  with  halleluiahs  to 

the  Lord ! 
No  longer  round   the  tree   of  life,  ye  cherubs  wield  the 

flaming  sword — 
Join  ye,  the  general  loud  acclaim,  Glory  to  Jesus  Christ  the 

Lord  ! 
But,  to  return  to  those  who  stood  with  eyes  uplifted  in 

amaze : 
To  these,  two  shining  ones  appear,  saying,  "  Men  of  Israel, 

why  this  gaze  ? 

Thi^  Jesus  who  is  taken  hence,  shall  thus  to  earth  again  de 
scend  ;  " 

They  worshipped,  and  with  joyful  hearts,  their  footsteps  to 
ward  Jerusalem  bend. 
Baptized  with  the  Holy  Ghost,  they  thus  the  joyful  news 

proclaim  : 
"  Ye  who  have  crucified  the  Lord,  receive  salvation  through 

his  name !  " 


35 

Nor  did  they  preach  the  word  in  vain  ;  three  thousand  in 
one  day  believed, 

And  were  immersed  into  the  name  of  Him  whose  doctrine 
they  received. 

To  every  nation  under  Heaven,  in  a  short  time,  the  Gospel 
spread, 

And  mightily  the  word  prevailed,  though  persecution  rear 
ed  its  head. 

Those  who  promulged  these  sacred  truths,  sought  but  the 
approval  of  their  Lord ; 

But,  when  through  signs  and  wonders  wrought,  Emperors 
and  Kings  received  the  word, 

That  all  this  blessing  should  receive,  deemed  it  expedient 
and  right, 

In  one  firm,  grand,  and  lasting  bond,  they  would  the  Church 
and  State  unite. 

Determined  with  their  lives,  to  maintain  these  truths, 
('t  was  noble)  but  behold  ! 

Many  unworthy  of  the  name,  crept  with  the  sheep  into  the 
fold: 

Hence,  sprang  divisions,  feuds  ;  and  hence,  creeds,  rules, 
and  vain  traditions  came, 

Till  shorn  of  its  celestial  charms,  Christianity  seemed  but  a 
name, 

That  precious  word  (designed  to  be  a  lamp  to  guide  the  Pil 
grim's  way,) 

Was  hid  from  the  inquirer's  view,  and  midnight  gloom  eclips 
ed  the  day. 

But  as  the  brightest  gems,  concealed  beneath  earth's  sur 
face,  still  retain 

Their  value,  so  this  precious  pearl  of  countless  worth  did 
still  remain 

Most  pure  ;  and  we  behold  with  joy,  these  inauspicious 
days, 

Gone  by ;  and  truth's  resplendent  beams  bless  us  with  its 
meridian  blaze. 

United  in  one  common  bond,  we  see  a  band  of  brethren 
rise 

'Round  its  deserted  standard  throng,  determined  to  secure 
the  prize 

Reserved  for  such  as  love  the  Lord,  and  his  commandments 
would  obey, 

Even  resurection  from  the  tomb!  and  joys  that  never  can 
decay. 


Hear  them  upon  the  immortal  base  of  God's  own  word  this 

truth  proclaim  ; 
To  Jesus  every  knee  shall  bow,  and  every  tongue  confess 

his  name. 
Hasten  His  favor  to  secure,  before  that  great  tremendous 

day, 
"When  such  as  now  despise  His  grace,  be  driven  like  the  chaff 

away. 


THE  ONE  WAY  TO  HEAYEN. 

BY   ANNE    W.    MAYLIN. 

Oh  !  watch  thy  soul's  footsteps,  lest  haply  they  stray 
In  their  journey  to  heaven,  from  its  dictated  way, 
Through  storm  or  through^inshine,  Earth's  gain,  or  its  loss, 
The  way  of  all  ransomed — the  way  of  the  Cross  ! 
That,  cheered  by  the  presence,  and  lit  by  the  smile 
Of  Him,  who  kept  Daniel  from  terror  and  wile, 
When  the  dainties  of  princes  he  scorned  for  his  meat, 
When  the  fierce  crouching  lions  lay  tamed  at  his  feet ; 
That,  tracked  by  the  footsteps  of  Saints  as  they  trod 
A  pathway,  oft  flinty,  yet  blessed  of  God  ; 
THAT,  never  the  SPORT  or  EARTH'S  CHANGES  to  be, 
THAT  one  and  the  same,  for  thy  FATHER'S  and  THEE  ! 

The  march  of  Invention  may  tread  as  it  will 

Upon  Time's  mighty  wheels,  until  Time  standeth  still ; 

From  each  circle  of  Science,  each  region  of  Art, 

Conjecture  may  widen,  and  Theory  start, 

Till  the  plodding  old  Past,  step  by  step,  shall  appear 

But  as  shadowy  night  to  the  eye  and  the  ear  ; 

Yet^n  that  one  path— in  the  path  of  the  soul, 

Beware — and  each  vagrant  invention  control ; 

Lest  in  silence,  a  mildew  should  creep  o'er  thy  lot, 

Like  a  serpent  that  coils,  and  thou  knowest  it  not ! 

O  !  tempest-torn  wanderer,  whose  heart,  faint  and  tost, 

Fears  in  doubt  and  in  gloom,  lest  its  compass  be  lost, 

Keep  thy  feet  where  Apostles  have  struggled  and  striven, 

And  that  path  of  all  ages  shall  take  thee'to  Heaven. 


37 


TO  MRS.  S.  A.  E. 

Seraphic  choirs  in  strains  harmonic 'is, 

Adoring  praise  their  God  and  our-; ; 
Redeeming  love,  and  grace  victorious, 

Astonish  these  celestial  powers. 
How  vast  the  wondrous  condescension  ! 

Ama/ing !  most  stupendous  grace  1 
No  seraph  purchased  our  salvation, 

No  cherubim  redeemed  otir  race. 
Exhaustless  source  of  exultation ! 

A  nobler  gift  demands  our  praise. 
'T  was  God's  own  Son  !  let  every  nation, 

One  universal  anthem  raise  ; 
Nor  cease  the  strains,  till  hosts  victorious, 

We  join  the  seraph's  rapturous  lays. 


DIVINE  GUIDANCE, 

SELECTED. 

When  Israel  through  the  desert  passed, 

A  riery  pillar  went  before, 
To  guide  them  through  the  dreary   va  te, 

And  lessen  the  fatigue  they  bore. 
Such  is  the  glorious  Word  of  God, 

'Tis  for  our  light  and  guidance  given, 
It  sheds  a  lustre  all  abroad, 

And  points  the  path  to  bliss  and  Heaven. 
It  fills  the  soul  with  sweet  delight, 

And  quickens  our  inactive  powers ; 
It  sets  our  wandering  footsteps  right, 

Dkplays  His  love,  and  kindles  ours. 

Itirpromises  rejoice  our  hearts  ; 
Its  doctrine  is  divinely  true  ; 

Knowledge  and  pleasure  it  imparts, 
It  comforts  and  instructs  us  too. 


THE  BIBLE. 

BY  WILLIAM   LEGGETT. 

This  little  Book  I'd  rather  own, 

Than  all  the  gold  and  gems 
That  e'er  in  monarch's  coffers  shone — 

Than  all  their  diadems. 

Nay,  were  the  seas  one  chrysolite, 

The  earth  a  golden  ball, 
And  diamonds  all  the  stars  of  night, 

This  book  were  worth  them  all. 

How  baleful  to  ambition's  eye 

His  blood- wrung  spoils  must  gleam, 

When  Death's  uplifted  hand  is  nigh, 
His  life  a  vanisj^d  dream  ! 

Then  hear  him  with  his  gasping  breath 
For  one  poor  moment  crave  ! — 

Fool !  would  'st  thou  stay  the  arm  of  death  ? 
Ask  of  the  gold  to  save  ! 

No,  no  !  the  soul  ne'er  found  relief 
In  glittering  hoards  of  wealth  ; 

Gems  dazzle  not  the  eye  of  grief — 
Gold  cannot  purchase  health  ; 

But  here  a  blessed  balm  appears 

To  heal  the  deepest  woe, 
And  he  that  seeks  this  book  in  tears, 

His  tears  shall  cease  to  flow. 

Here  he  who  died  on  Calvary's  tree 

Hath  made  that  promise  blest : 
"  Ye  heavy  laden  come  to  me, 

And  I  will  give  you  rest. 

A  bruised  reed  I  will  not  break, 

A  contrite  heart  despise ; 
My  burden's  light,  and  all  who  take 

My  yoke,  shall  win  the  skies  !  " 


Yes,  yes,  this  little  book  is  worth. 

All  else  to  mortals  given, 
For  what  are  all  the  joys  of  Earth 

Compared  to  joys  of  Heaven  ? 

This  is  the  guide  our  Father  gave 
To  lead  to  realms  of  day — 

A  star  whose  lustre  gilds  the  grave- 
"  The  light— the  life— the  way." 


TO  MRS.  F.  T. 

Fraught  with  bevolence  toward  our  helpless  race, 

A  mediator  leaves  the  court  of  Heaven  ; 
No  angel  wisdom  fully  scans  the  grace, 

Nor  asks  why  such  a  gift  to  man  is  given. 
Yet  these  intelligencies,  nejjmhe  throne, 

Their  richest,  sweetest  melodies  employ, 
Heaven's  utmost  stretch  of  mercy  to  make  known 

Oh,  mortals,  catch  the  theme  of  rapturous  joy  ; 
Mysterious  union  !  Heaven  and  Earth  are  joined, 

Angels  and  men,  one  general  anthem  raise  ! 
Saved  from  our  sins,  we  pure  enjoyments  find, 
•  Aud  should  outvie  the  brightest  seraph's  lays. 


CHRISTIAN  FIRMNESS. 

SELECTED    BY   W.    W.    E. 
Neither  count  I  my  life  dear  unto  myself." — dpostle  Paul. 

Be  thou  like  the  twelve  apostles — 

Be  thou  like  heroic  Paul ; 
If  a  free  thought  seek  expression, 

Speak  it  boldly  !  speak  it  all ; 
Face  thine  enemies — accusers  ; 

Scorn  the  prison,  rack,  or  rod  ! 
And,  if  thou  hast  TRUTH  to  utter-, 

SPEAK  !  and  leave  rest  to  God  ! — Gallagher. 


40 

\ 

TO  \V.  T. 

"  We  preach  Christ  crucified."— Apostle  Paul 

"While  some  of  noble  ancestors  glory  and  boast, 

In  search,  of  wealth,  others  ignobly  strive  ; 
Learning's  redundant  charms  other's  pursue, 

Leaving  all  joys  for  those  they  thence  derive. 
In  worldly  pleasures  others  seek  for  bliss, 

Although  experience  proves  the  effort  vain, 
Make  it  their  glory  to  pursue  the  chase 

And  hope  from  shadows  substance  to  obtain. 

€mine  to  glory  in  a  Savior's  Cross, 
nfurl  His  banner,  and  His  love  proclaim, 
( ;ardless  of  all  earthly  gain  or  loss  ; 
'Tis  mine  to  rear  a  standard  to  his  fame  ; 
Oh  !  may  the  Sacred  Spirit's  lambient  name, 
Prefigured  by  a  toucb^f  hallowing  fire  — 

Kcfine,  illume,  an^mth  well-tempered  zeal, 
And  love  to  precious  souls  my  breast  inspire  ! 

No  ill  shall  daunt  me  ;  nor  shall  pleasure  lure  ; 
Thus  aided  I  the  Gospel  will  proclaim, 
Nor  rest  inglorious  while  one  soul  remain 
Unsaved  from  sin,  through  His  most  PKECIOUS  NAME. 


THE  BIBLE  THE  COMFOIIT  OF  THE  AFFLICTED, 

There  is  a  mourner,  and  her  heart  is  broken  ; 

She  is  a  widow  ;  she  is  old  and  poor  ; 
Her  only  hope  is  in  that  sacred  token 

Of  peaceful  happiness  when  life  is  o'er  ; 
She  asks  not  wealth  nor  pleasures — begs  no  more 

Than  Heaven's  delightful  volume,  and  the  sight 
Of  her  Redeemer.     Skeptics,  would  you  pour 

Your  blasting  vials  on  her  head,  and  blight 
Sharon's  sweet  rose,  that  blooms, 

And  charms  her  being's  night  r — PercivaL 


41 


A  FRAGMENT. 

SELECTED. 

And  are  there  those  who  at  the  Bible  scoff, 

And  cast  aside  this  only  balm  of  hope  ? 

Though  fortune  smile  upon  their  palace  gate, 

I  envy  not  their  lot,  nor  would  exchange 

The  harnessed  African's  hard  yoke  for  theirs, 

If  vile  ingratitude  to  man  proclaim 

A  low  and  sordid  mind ; 

How  must  appear  the  wretch,  who  lives  unmindful  of 

his  God! 

In  whom  each  name  is  truly  realized,  B^to 

Of  Father  !— Benefactor  !— Friend ! 


THE  SCRIPTURES. 

SELECTED. 

Lamp  of  our  feet !  whose  hallowed  beam 

Deep  in  our  hearts  its  dwelling  hath, 
How  welcome  is  the  cheering  gleam 

Thou  sheddest  o'er  our  lowly  path  ! 
Light  of  our  way  !  whose  rays  are  flung 

In  mercy  o'er  our  pilgrim  road, 
How  blessed  its  dark  shades  among, 

The  star  that  guides  us  to  our  God ! 

Our  fathers,  in  the  days  gone  by, 

Read  thee  in  dim  and  sacred  caves, 
Or  in  the  deep  wood  silently, 

Met  where  thick  branches  o'er  them  waved, 
To  seek  the  hope  thy  record  gave, 

When  thou  wert  a  forbidden  thing, 
And  the  strong  chain  and  bloody  grave 

Were  all  on  earth  thy  love  could  bring. 
4 


u 

•a 


42 

Our  fathers,  in  the  days  gone  by, 

Read  thee  while  peril  o'er  them  hung  j 
But  we,  beneath  the  open  sky, 

May  search  thy  leaves  of  truth  along ; 
Fearless,  our  daily  haunts  among, 

May  chant  the  hallowed  lays  of  old, 
Once  by  the  shepherd  minstrel  sung, 

When  Israel's  hills  o'er  hung  his  fold- 

In  the  sweet  morning's  hour  of  prime, 

Thy  blessed  words  our  lips  engage, 
And  round  our  hearths,  at  evening  time, 
Our  children  spell  the  holy  page ; 
waymark  through  long  distant  years, 
'o  guide  their  wandering  footsteps  on, 
thy  last  loveliest  beam  appears, 
Written  on  the  churchyard  stone. 

Lamp  of  our  feet !  which  day  by  day 

Are  passing  to  the  quiet  tomb, 
If  on  it  fall  thy  peaceful  ray, 

Our  last  low  dwelling  hath  no  gloom, 
How  beautiful  their  calm  repose 

To  whom  that  blessed  hope  was  given, 
Whose  pilgrimage  on  earth  was  closed 

By  the  unfolding  gates  of  Heaven  ! 


THE  CHRISTIAN  PREACHER'S  RESOLUTION. 

Plighted,  my  vows  to  own  Messiah's  sway, 
Onward  to  his  blessed  courts  I  urge  my  way, 
Regardless  of  all  earthly  loss  or  gain, 
This  my  ambition,  to  proclaim  his  reign ; 
Even  to  earth's  utmost  verge  should  I  repair, 
Redemption  through  His  blood  would  publish  there, 
Till  every  people,  nation,  tribe,  and  tongue 
Hears  Jesus  fills  the  mediatorial  throne. 
Oh !  name  most  precious  !  soul-transforming  sound ! 
Millions  have  through  this  name  salvation  found ; 
And  millions  more  fettered  by  sin's  dire  chain, 
Shall  hear,  believe,  obey,  and  freedom  gain. 


43 

THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH. 

AN  ACROSTIC. 

The  Christian  Church ;  ah  !  tell  me  where  exists  the  hal 
lowed  fane  ? 

Hither  I  would  with  speed  repair  rich  proffered  bliss  to  gain, 
Each  precept  learn,  each  law  obey,  enjoined  by  the  Great 

Head, 

Conduct  me  to  this  sacred  Dome,  I  long  its  courts  to  tread. 
Hither,  oh,  Pilgrim  turn  thy  feet,  here  is  the  Church  of  God, 
Religion  sheds  its  radiance  here,  these  paths  a 

trod ; 
Inspired  by  Heaven,  he  lived,  and  died,  this  hoi 

his  fame, 

Securely  on  this  basis  rest,  and  here  inscribe  your  name. 
'Twas  his  to  search  the  sacred  page,  and  understand  each 

line, 

Instruction  from  his  words  receive,  they  surely  are  divine. 
Ah  !  'tis  the  pristine  Christian  Church,  which  I  so  long  to 

find, 

No  less  can  fully  satisfy  my  long  misguided  mind, 
Confessions,   creeds,  and  sects,  and  names  most   certainly 

abound, 
How  shall  I  find  the  Church  I  seek  where  marks  I  name 

are  found  ? 

United  to  one  common  Lord,  immersed  into  his  name, 
Rejoicing  in  one  faith,  one  hope,  one  body  they've  became, 
Conformed  in  all  things  to   his  word,  they  in  his   image 

shine, 
Hither  conduct  my  willing  feet,  and  make  these  blessings 

mine. 


ircn  ol  Lroa, 
a  sajjithas 

mse^^* 


44 


TO  W.  W.  E. 

Life  and  Immortality  is  brought  to  light  through  the  Gospel, 

'"  What  fills  my  breast  with  this  intense  desire  ? 

Insatiate  longings  ever  to  endure  ; 
Life's  utmost  limits  end,  its  joys  expire, 

Like  these  my  doom  is  fixed,  my  fate  is  sure. 
In  vain  I  to  the  fiat  would  be  resigned, 

And  summon  fortitude  and  reason's  aid  ; 
My  heart  recoils,  my  anxious,  active  mind, 

Would  gladly  find  a  refuge  from  Death's  shade." 
Erethe  rich  Gospel  rose  with  rays  benign, 
rijjtffc  hope  appeared  the  dark  profound  to  ilium  e 
The  time  has  come  when  its  rich  blessings  shine 
^^ith  pure  resplendence  o'er  the  dreary  tomb. 
Oh  !  had  Socrates,  Seneca,  or  Plato  known 

Redeeming  love  would  ransom  from  the  grave, 
Their  philanthropic  powers  had  gladly  shown 

How  boundless  grace  a  guilty  world  could  save. 
Engaged  in  this  great  work,  my  Christian  Friend, 

A  Savior's  boundless  mercy  you  proclaim  ; 
'Tis  yours,  this  greatest  blessing  to  commend, 

Of  life  immortal  through  his  precious  name  ! 
No  vain,  enthusiastic,  baseless  dreams, 

Or  philosophic  lore  inspires  your  breast, 
But  through  the  Sacred  Scripture's  gladdening  streams, 

You  point  the  Sinner  to  the  Christian's  rest. 


LORD'S  SUPPER. 

SELECTED. 

"  Do  this  in  remembrance  of  Me."— King  Messiah. 
Jesus  is  gone  above  the  skies, 

Where  our  weak  senses  reach  him  not, 
And  carnal  objects  court  our  eyes, 

To  thrust  our  Savior  from  our  thought. 
He  knows  what  wandering  hearts  we  have, 

Apt  to  forget  his  lovely  face ; 
And  to  refresh  our  minds  he  gave 

These  kind  memorials  of  his  grace. 


45 

The  Lord  of  life  this  table  spread 

With  his  own  flesh,  and  dying  blood, 
We  on  the  rich  provision  feed, 

We  taste  the  wine  and  bless  our  God. 
Let  sinful  sweets  be  all  forgot, 

And  earth  grow  less  in  our  esteem, 
Christ  and  his  love  fill  every  thought, 

And  faith,  and  hope,  be  fixed  on  Him. 

While  he  is  absent  from  our  sight, 

Tis  to  prepare  for  us  a  place 
That  we  may  dwell  in  heavenly  light, 

And  live  forever  near  his  face, 
Our  eyes  look  upward  to  the  hill 

Whence  our  returning  Lord  shall  come 
We  wait  his  Chariot's  awful  wheels 

To  fetch  our  longing  spirits  home. 


TRUTH. 

Substance  of  a  lecture  delivered  at  Park  Street  Church,  Portland,  Me. 

July,  1843,  preparatory  to  a  series  of  lecture,-,  by  Rev.  J.  W., 

Pastor  of  said  Church,  at  that  time. 

Before  thy  Sacred  Altar,  Heavenly  Truth  ! 
I  bow  in  manhood  as  I  bowed  in  youth  • 
Thus  let  me  kneel  till  this  dull  form  decay 
And  life's  last  shadow  brighten  in  thy  ray  ; 
Then  let  rny  soul,  now  lost  in  clouds  below 
Soar  without  bounds,— without  consuming  glow  ! 

SIR-W.  JONES. 

Midst  bigotry,  and  wild  fanatic  flames, 

Religious  creeds,  and  anti-scriptural  names, 

Jehovah's  will,  as  in  the  gospel  shown, 

Assumes  a  basis,  steadfast  as  his  throne. 

Shall  mortals  garbed  with  sacerdotal  pride, 

One  law  infringe,  or  precept  set  aside— 

New-model  Mith  their  own  traditions  vain, 

What  God's  own  Son  in  wisdom  pleased  to  ordain  ? 

Honor  themselves,  his  legislation  spurn, — 

In  deep  polemic  strife,  and  rancor  burn  ? 


46 

To  instruct  the  ignorant,  aid  the  inquiring  mind, 

Make  men's  inventions,  that  so  fully  blind 

And  fetter  such  as  would  in  Christ  be  free, 

Nor  through  their  own  opinions  sundered  be, 

My  purpose  is,  while  on  me  firm  I  gird 

Intrinsic  truth,  and  wi eld  the  Spirit's  sword, 

Nor  will  I  shrink  from  labors  most  intense, 

In  which  engaged  a  project  so  immense, 

Shall  in  the  smallest  measure  be  my  aid, 

Toward  its  maturity  increase  be  made  ; 

Each  morning,  noon,  each  evening  shade  shall  bear 

Remembrances  of  my  unceasing  care 

On  truths  immortal ;  and  unerring  base 

Faith's  all-important  energies  to  place  ; 

Truth  !  mighty  truth  !— when  mortal  aims  expire, 

Humbled,  on  their  own  grand  funereal  pyre 

Each  earth-born  project— shall  triumphant  rise, 

Gladdening  the  earth,  and  tow'ring  to  the  skies. 

Oh  !  when  shall  this  important,  mighty  skill, 

Scatter  the  feuds  that  now  the  churches  fill ; 

Plant  its  strong  standard,  raise  its  banners  high, 

Error  expel  by  its  own  purity, 

Like  morning  clouds  when  sun-beams  gild  the  sky  ? 


BROTHERLY  LOVE. 

SELECTED. 

By  this  shall  all  men  know  that  ye  are  my  disciples,  if  ye  lore  one 
another. — The  King  Messiah. 

And  is  it  thus  thy  followers,  Lord, 

Evince  that  they  are  taught  by  thee  ? 
Thus  do  the  world,  with  one  accord, 

Their  union  to  their  Savior  see  ? 
Ah  !  then  we  mourn,  that  'mid  the  throng, 

Who  here  around  thy  altars  press, 
But  few,  apparently,  belong 

To  such  as  thou  will  deign  to  bless. 


47 


Well  may  the  scoffing  atheist  say 

That  Christian  love  is  but  a  name, 
Since  ranc'rous  hatred  we  betray, 

And  pleased  a  brother's  faults  proclaim. 
Well  may  a  selfish  world  declare, 

When  we  their  jealous  feuds   condemn, 
That  though  the  Christian's  badge  we  wear, 

In  spirit  we're  allied  to  them. 

Then,  urged  by  love's  impelling  force, 

With  generous,  self-denying  zeal 
We  should  pursue  a  lofty  course, 

Nor  jealous  hate,  nor  envy  feel. 
The  Savior's  name  should  cause  our  hearts 

To  glow  with  love's  ennobling  flame  ; 
For  'tis  this  fruit  that  best  imparts 

A  title  to  the  Christian  name.  P.  F. 


"  Behold,  I  show  you  a  mystery." — Apostle  Paul. 

"A  mighty  monarch,  yet  compelled  to  weep, 

Life,  ah  !  how  brief  thy  most  protracted  date  ; 
Each  valiant  soldier  soon  in  Death  must  sleep," 

Xerxes  once  said,  and  mourned  their  hapless  fate. 
Although  the  sages  flourished  in  his  reign, 

Nature's  fair  volume  to  his  wondering  eye 
Demonstrated  the  wheat,  and  other  grain 

Enshrined  in  earth,  fresh  living  plants  would  rise  ; 
Redemption  from  the  grave  these  never  taught, 

Confused  ideas  the  sage's  labors  crowned  ; 
A  voice  from  Heaven,  with  love  and  mercy  fraught, 

Makes  known  to  man  the  mystery  profound. 
Perish  !  it  says,  the  mortal  structure  must !  j 

But  God's  own  Son,  to  ransom  from  the  tomb, 
Entered  its  precincts — every  barrier  burst — 

Loosened  each  fetter,  and  eternal 
Life,  proclaimed  through  His  great  name, dispels  the  gloom. 


ON  BETHANY  COLLEGE. 

Tliis  noble  structure  ia  at  length,  complete  ; 
Here  shall  religion,  art,  and  science  meet, — 
Entombed  no  longer  in  sectarian  mines, 
Counter  to  saered  wisdom's  grand  designs. 
On  truth's  broad  basis,  tow'ring  to  the  skies, 
Learning  shall  aid  slow  reason  to  arise, 
Lead  with  her  silken  bands  and  gentlest  care. 
Each, who  shall  to  this  peaceful  dome  repair. 
Great,  and  philanthropic  must  be  the  mind, 
Employed  to  pour  such  blessings  on  mankind, 
And  though  the  well-earned  mead  mortals  restrain, 
The  rich  reward  in  his  own  breast  shall  reign. 
(But  I  digress)  here  truth  shall  be  displayed, 
Enriching,  renovating,  powerful  aid, 
Temporising  not,  for  'neath  its  whelming  tide, 
High  sounding  titles,  and  sectarian  pride 
Are  buried  ;  while  upon  their  ruins  rise, 
Nicely  constructed,  heaven-taught  harmonies, 
Yielding  to  Zion's  king  exalted  praise, 
"While  youthful  voices  gladsome  accents  raise. 

The  writer  most  sincerely  and  devoutly  wishes  that  the?e  high  and 
hoasted  aims  may  be  accomplished.  Can  this  be  done  if  equal  right  to 
freedom  it  not  inculcated  ?  Can  this  be  done  in  Virginia  ? 


FAREWELL  ADDRESS  TO  ELDER  W.  W.  EATON. 

Beloved  brother  !  Oh,  Farewell ! 
Emotions  sad,  the  breast  will  swell, 

When  called  to  part  with  thee  ; 
Whatever  ills  may  its  betide, 
May  Heaven's  rich  grace  o'er  thee  preside, 

And  thy  protection  be. 

We  fondly  hoped  that  thou  would  'st  dwell 
With  us,  and  of  salvation  tell, 
Till  we  to  death  should  bend  ; 


49 

Nor  on  the  pleasing  vision  'rose 
A  thought  thy  labors  here  would  close, 
And  thy  loved  counsels  end. 

We  hoped  to  see  believers  stand 

With  thee  upon  the  wave-washed  strand, 

The  Savior's  name  to  own  ; 
Thy  argumentative  display, 
Of  His  great  love,  would  many  sway, 

To  seek  the  grace  thus  shown. 

But  Providence  calls  thee  away — 
We  own  its  most  unerring  sway, 

And  to  the  mandate  bend ; 
And  pray  its  brightest  rays  benign, 
On  thee  and  thine  may  ever  shine, 

And  all  thy  steps  attend. 

We  cannot  wish  kind  Heaven  to  shed 
Blessings  more  copious  on  thy  head, 

Than  those  for  us  implored  ; 
A  growth  in  knowledge,  and  in  grace, 
A  lot  among  the  blood-bought  race, 

And  peace  these  paths  afford. 

And  when  death  closes  up  the  scene, 
No  darksome  clouds  to  intervene, 

The  Savior's  love  to  obscure, 
But  bursting  on  faith's  ravished  eye, 
Bright  hopes  of  immortality, 

As  God's  own  word  most  sure. 

Beloved  brother  !  oh,  farewell ! 

"  Accents  how  painful  who  can  tell, 

Where  kindred  souls  unite ; " 
May'st  thou  so  wield  the  sword  divine, 
As  with  resplendence  pure  to  shine, 

In  realms  of  fadeless  night. 


50 


RECEPTION  OF  TWO  BRETHREN  INTO 
THE  CHURCH. 

Welcome  to  the  fold  of  Jesus,  youthful  votaries  of  the  cross ! 
You,  who  to  secure  his  favor,  count  all  earthly  gain  as  dross. 
See  !  the  Scribe  with  ready  fingers,  waiting  to  enrol  each 

name, 
With    Immanuel's    happy   followers,    whose    companions 

you  've  became. 
Lo  !  each  friendly  brother  greets  you,  pleased  that  you  so 

soon  have  fled 
To  the  hope  that 's  set  before  you,  through  the  pathway 

Jesus  led. 
Candidates  for  endless  glory,  you  have  now  commenced  a 

strife, 
That  will  call  each  power  to  action,  and  will  only  cease  with 

life ! 

Yet  the  victory  is  certain,  if  you  make  his  \vord  your  guide, 
By  this  lamp,  your  footsteps  aided,  need  not  from  the  path 
way  slide  ; 
Not  as  in  the  Olimpic  races,  where  all  but  one  must  run  in 

vain ; 
Each  shall  wear  a  wreath  unfading,  soon  as  each  the  goal 

shall  gain.  . 
But  what !  oh,  what  is  ceaseless  glory?  crowns  unfading  ! 

what  are  they  ? 
Seraphs  clad  with  dazzling  brightness  !  scan  you  what  these 

words  convey  ! 
Crowns  unfading  !  ceaseless  glory  !    let  me  on  these  sweet 

words  dwell ; 

Is  there  aught  in  human  language  can  these  rapturous  ac 
cents  swell, 
Or  exceed  them  ?     Notes  from  Calvary  tell  us  how  these 

blessings  came ; 
"  Jesus   died,   and  rose  triumphant !     and  imparts  them 

through  his  name  !  " 
Sweet !  oh,  sweetest  name  of  Jesus  !  may  this  accent  be  the 

last 

That  vibrates  upon  my  ear,  when  the  dreams  of  life  are  past, 
And  assure  me  of  the  mandate,  soon  to  burst  my  dark  retreat, 
From  my  death-sealed  slumbers  waken,  and  conduct  me  to 
his  feet. 


51 

THE  AGED  PILGRIM. 

TO   MRS.   W . 

See  the  happy  aged  Pilgrim,  ready  for  her  long  sought  rest, 
Lingering  on* the  brink  of  Jordan,  waiting  for  the  high  be 
hest ! 
Soon  will  the  command  be  given,  spirit  drop  the  cumbrous 

clod, 
Leave  this  feeble,  painful  mansion,  for  the  presence  of  thy 

God! 
Early  thou  didst  seek  the  Savior,  and  didst  give  to  Him  thy 

heart, 
"When  earth's  charms  were  most  alluring,  thou  didst  choose 

the  better  part ; 
Many  times  he  sure  has  blest  thee,  made  thy  heart  with 

love  to  glow, 
Has  been  with  thee  in  affliction,  when  that  heart  was  filled 

with  woe. 
Will  He  now  forsake  his  servant,  cause  his  faithfulness  to 

fail? 

"When  life's  lamp  shows  its  last  glimerings,  shall  the  ene 
my  prevail  ? 

No  !  He  sheds  his  comforts  o'er  her,  now  when  life's  al 
lurements  cease ; 
He  supports  his  feeble  servant,   and  imparts  to  her  his 

peace. 
He  will  light  death's  darkest  valley,  He  her  rod,  her  staff 

will  prove, 
He  will  cheer  her  with  his  presence,  and  support  her  with 

his  love ; 
Aged  Pilgrim,  shout  Hosannah  !  while  thou  dost  continue 

here, 
Aided    by  thy    powerful  Savior,   Jordan's  streams  thou 

need'st  not  fear, 
Though  the  waves  swell  high  around  thee,  boldly  venture 

on  the  flood, 
And  thou  shalt  be  safely  landed,  in  the  presence  of  thy 

God. 


52 


ADDRESS  TO  NEW  BRUNSWICK. 

Adieu  !  New  Brunswick  !  thy  rock-crested  shore 

I  leave,  with  choicest  friends  of  spirits  rare ; 

I  do  feel  sad,  to  think  that  I  no  more 

Their  kind  attentive  sympathies  shall  share. 

Led  by  an  unseen  providential  hand, 

While  yet  a  child,  here  was  my  peaceful  home ; 

And  though  I  sometimes  sighed  for  my  own  land, 

I  was  content  from  hence  no  more  to  roam ; 

But  darksome  clouds  sometimes  'round  Pilgrims  rise, 

That  Heaven's  designs  may  each  accomplished  be ; 

And  I  now  quit  these  hospitable  skies, 

For  the  loved  land  of  my  nativity. 

And  as  the  steamer  o'er 'the  proud  wave  glides, 

And  from  my  view  each  mountain  top  retires, 

I  OAvn  a  power  supreme  o'er  all  presides, 

And  hope's  bright  beams  my  saddened  breast  inspires. 

Well  I  remember,  when  in  childhood's  pride, 

With  spirits  buoyant  as  this  wafting  breeze, 

I  first  these  lofty  mountain  tops  descried ; 

Pleased  with  the  varied  hues  that  decked  the  trees. 

But  childhood  hours  and  youthful  days  are  fled, 
And  time's  dark  shadows  o'er  my  pathway  steals  ; 
And  while  on  me  her  sable  robe  is  spread, 
She  on  my  form  her  fading  power  reveals. 
Where'er  kind  providence  may  cast  my  lot, 
To  me  New  Brunswick  will  be  ever  dear  ; 
And  memory  linger  o'er  some  favorite  spot, 
And  shed  affection's  tributary  tear. 

Ah  !  dear  the  sod,  beneath  which  lies  concealed 
Kindred,  and  friends,  by  death's  cold  fetters  bound, 
Near  whom,  I  thought,  when  from  life's  burdens  freed, 
To  sleep  in  peace  till  the  last  trump  should  sound  ! 
And  dear  !  oh,  very  dear  the  wave-washed  strand  ! 
Where  I  the  Savior's  precious  name  confessed  ; 
Yielded  obedience  to  his  high  command, 
And  of  His  promises  became  possessed. 
And  dear  the  place  where  with  a  happy  few, 
I  oft  assembled  'round  his  sacred  board, 


53 

Our  prayers  to  offer,  and  our  strength  renew, 
And  to  each  other  mutual  aid  afford. 

New  Brunswick  !  from  thy  rock- environed  shore, 
I  now  depart  with  sentiments  most  kind  ; 
May  Heaven  its  richest  blessings  on  thee  pour, 
"While  I  thee  leave  my  earlier  home  to  find. 


TO  PORTLAND,  MAINE. 

Most  pleasing  site,  my  early  childhood's  home  ! 

Though  from  thy  soil  destined  for  years  to  roam, 

Not  changing  scenes,  nor  all  absorbing  time, 

Could  me  quite  wean  from  thy  salubrious  clime  ; 

But  I  to  some  sequestered  spot  would  stray, 

And  muse  in  solitude  the  hours  away. 

But 't  was  not  for  this  land  alone  I  grieved, 

A  deeper  wound  my  bosom  had  received ; 

And  darksome  clouds  over  my  skies  were  cast, 

And  my  young  spirit  feared  the  threatened  blast. 

Yet,  among  strangers  I  found  friends  most  kind, 

Whose  tender  sympathies  consoled  my  mind ; 

May  these  in  Heaven  amply  rewarded  be, 

For  all  their  acts  of  kindnesses  to  me  ; 

And  in  their  land*  I  was  content  to  abide, 

Till  plunged  life's  bark  beneath  time's  whelming  tide, 

But  Heaven  had  blessings  still  in  store  for  me, 

And  I  once  more  this  happy  country  see. 

Cold,  and  insensible  must  be  his  breast, 

Who  can  behold  with  feelings  unimpressed, 

After  a  lapse  of  forty  years  or  more, 

Places  in  childhood  often  rambled  o'er, 

And  think  of  those  who  their  young  footsteps  led, 

Now  numbered  with  the  cold  and  silent  dead. 

This  house,  the  yard,  the  barn  where  hung  the  swing, 

Each  to  my  mind  fond  recollections  bring ; 

*  St.  John,  Nevr  Brunswick.       * 


54 

That  swing  my  father  with  the  utmost  care, 

With  his  own  hand,  to  please  us,  did  prepare  ; 

Methinks,  even  now,  his  placid  brow  I  see, 

As  with  a  smile  he  turned  his  eyes  on  me. 

The  garden,  too,  the  well,  and  the  large  tree, 

Beneath  whose  shade  my  mother  counselled  me, 

With  arguments  so  weighty,  clear,  and  mild, 

That  I  to  wisdom  leaned,  when  but  a  child ; 

And  quite  convinced  earth's  joys  scarce  worth  my  care, 

Resolved  I  would  for  brighter  worlds  prepare. 

Oh  !  days  of  childhood  !  though  to  me  most  dear, 

Yet  I  regret  not  thy  most  fleet  career ; 

Nor  do  I  covet  this  my  early  home, 

Nor  grieve  that  I  from  hence  was  called  to  roam  ; 

A  gracious  power  has  guided  all  my  ways, 

And  I  to  Heaven  would  render  grateful  praise ; 

And  here  abide  till  life's  last  ebbings  cease, 

And  my  freed  spirit  leaves  the  world  in  peace. 


ON  LEAVING  PORTLAND. 

TO    MISS   B.    W . 

My  friend,  adieu  !  oft  shall  I  think  on  thee, 

In  lands  remote  though  cast  my  lot  should  be  ; — 

Shall  ponder  o'er  thy  words  and  actions  kind, 

So  soothing  to  my  sorrow-stricken  mind. 

By  Heaven's  mysterious,  though  unerring  hand, 

A  stranger  in  this  oft  desired  land, 

To  me  by  early  recollections  dear, 

Here  would  I  pitch  my  tent,  and  gladly  here 

Sojourn  till  worn  or  broke  life's  thread,  and  gladly  I, 

Heaven  bidding,  lay  my  staif  and  sandals  by ; 

Each  duty  not  avoided,  but  well  done, 

Breasted  each  danger,  and  the  victory  won. 

And  though  I  humbly  bow  to  Heaven's  behest, 

Willing,  as  it  permits,  to  rove  or  rest ; 


55 

Here,  that  each.  Pilgrim  may  encouraged  be, 
I  would  acknowledge  God  has  succored  me.* 
Then  onward  plod  through  life's  uneven  way, 
Make  His  blest  word  my  comfort,  chart,  and  stay ; 
And  though  my  future  destiny  's  unknown, 
Never  despond,  after  such  kindness  shown. 


TO  MRS.  W . 

My  kind,  disinterested,  generous  friend, 
Remembrances  of  thy  attentions  kind, 

Shall  still  where  e'er  my  wandering  footsteps  bend, 
Mild,  rainbow  influence  on  my  memory  bind. 

A  stranger,  where  in  sunny  childhood's  pride, 
Roved  I  most  careless  midst  a  joyous  band ; 

Years  have  elapsed,  and  borne  with  changing  tide, 
Friends  and  companions  to  the  spirit  land. 

A  few  remain,  but  ah  !  how  changed  these  ! 

I,  too,  am  changed  ;  earth  is  with  changes  fraught ; 
Reflections  pensive — my  rapt  senses  seize, 

Fixes,  in  reveries  deep,  the  powers  of  thought. 

I  seem  as  those  from  a  long  sleep  awaked, 
Endeavoring  baseless  visions  to  retain  ; 

Like  these,  I  range  through  memory's  cells  most  deep, 
Desirous  to  review  past  scenes  again. 

Wearied  at  length  with  toil  so  wholly  vain, 
Heaven's  boundless  mercies  I  recall  to  mind  j 

I  ponder  o'er  the  providential  chain, 

That  led  my  footsteps  to  a  friend  so  kind. 

*  "  When  a  lonely  pilgrim  left  his  home, 

And  laid  him  down  on  stones  to  rest, 
Jehovah  said,  '  where'er  you  roam 

There  I  abide  to  make  you  blest.'  " 


56 

May  that  great  power  who  over  all  presides, 
Aid  you  most  safely  o'er  time's  changing  sea ; 

Ne'er  may  you  lack  a  kind  and  generous  friend, 
Nor  unrewarded  for  your  kindness  be. 


TO  MISS  M.  E.  C. 

'Midst  darksome  clouds  that  sometimes  o'er  my  skies, 
In  most  portentous  dreariness  arise, 
Some  gleams  of  sunshine  through  the  dense  profound, 
Scatter  the  gloom  and  fling  their  charms  around. 
Most  gentle  friend,  I  would  record  thy  name, 
And  blazon  high  thy  philanthropic  fame, 
Rehearse  how  oft  thy  words  and  actions  kind, 
Yielded  to  my  sad,  sorrow-stricken  mind. 
Enjoyments,  that  from  one  so  young,  a  stranger,  so  un 
taught, 

Life's  sorrowing  scene  my  warmest  hopes  ne'er  sought ; 
I  would,  but  quite  convinced  a  mind  like  thine, 
Such  meeds  desire  not,  the  loved  task  decline, 
And  folded  'neath  fond  memory's  deep  recess, 
Bury  these  gentle  acts  of  kindnesses  ; 
Embalmed  by  gratitude,  'till  'neath  time's  wheel, 
The  flame  's  extinct,  or  death  sets  his  cold  seal ; 
How  dark  the  vista  of  my  future  years, — 
Complex  the  present,  too,  yet  gloomy  fears 
Have  not  a  place  within  my  tranquil  breast ; 
A  full  assurance  earth  is  not  my  rest, 
Nor  shall  be  long  my  home ;  't  is  my  design 
No  duty  to  omit,  nor  e'er  repine, 
If  darksome  clouds  again  around  me  'rise, 
Nor  be  unthankful  for  serener  skies, 
Glad,  if  when  both  are  past,  I  win  the  prize.* 

*  Set  before  me  in  the  Gospel. 


PROGRESSION. 

SELECTED. 

There  is  more  comfort  to  my  soul, 
To  feel  the  smallest  duty  not  neglected, 
And  my  day's  work  fulfilled,  than  if  I  knew 
This  perishable  du^t  would  be  interred 
In  kinply  marble,  and  my  name  set  forth 
In  pompous  blazonry. 

MARY  Hown 

Hope  on  !  hope  on  !  Oh,  restless  heart ! 

Though  dark  the  hour  may  be ; 
For  even  in  thy  trials,  know 

A  glory  waits  for  thee. 
Oh  !  keep  thou  still  the  dew  of  youth — 
Still  hold  thou  fast  unto  the  truth  ! 

What  though  thy  strong  desire  sent  forth, 

Unequal  ends  attain — 
And  thy  intensest  thoughts  perceive 

That  all  the  earth  is  vain  ! 
Oh,  not  in  vain  !  if  truth  and  right, 
But  arm  thee  with  heroic  might ! 

Toil  on  !  for  like  the  pillared  stone 

O'er  which  the  moss  has  crept, 
And  veiled  the  record  there  inscribed, 

While  ages  round  it  slept ; 
Thus,  thou  mayest  on  truth's  tablet  read, 
Pure  aid  to  meet  thy  utmost  need. 

For  thou  in  this  unequal  strife, 

But  tendest  to  a  goal, 
Whose  object  realized,  shall  fill 

The  vastness  of  the  soul, — 
Those  ardent  hopes,  those  wishes  high, 
Belong  to  that  which  cannot  die. 
5 


58 


TO  MRS.  S.  H.  T. 

My  mind  to  pensive  musings  oft  inclined, 

Reflects  on  time's  most  changing  fleet  career; 

Some  fond  remembrances  deeply  entwined, 

Still  claim  affection's  tributary  tear. 

Unsullied  joy  earth's  surface  cannot  yield, — 

Sorrows  assail  us, — sunny  rills,  too,  flow, 

And  though  the  sorrow-stricken  heart  may  bleed, 

Numberless  comforts  blend  with  saddest  woe  ; 

Nor  should  those  rills  in  dark  oblivion's  sea, 

A  "  prey  to  dumb  forgetfulness  "  be  thrown, 

Heaven's  King  has  said,  "such  as  acknowledge  me, 

And  offer  praise,  I  will  accept  and  own." 

Rich  feelings  that  no  language  can  express, 

Rivet  my  senses,  and  my  tongue  would  bind 

In  silence  !  but  He  wills  his  name  be  blest, 

Shall  then  my  tongue  or  pencil  be  confined  ? 

Or,  shall  I  use  the  powers  to  me  assigned, 

Nor  covet  those  the  bright  celestials  own  ? 

Their  noblest  strains,  and  efforts  weak  as  mine, 

Have  each  acceptance  at  His  gracious  throne. 

Oh  memory  !  on  thy  tablet  be  impressed, 

Mysteries  thus  sacred,  'till  the  hallowing  seal 

Shall  regulate  my  too  oft  erring  breast, 

O'ershadow  all  my  movements,  and  I  feel 

No  darkening  germ,  but  Heaven's  pure  stamp  reveal. 


SOLITUDE. 

AN    EXTRACT   FROM   BYRON. 


To  sit  on  rocks,  to  muse  o'er  flood  and  fell, 
To  slowly  trace  the  forest's  shady  scene, 

"Where  things  that  own  not  man's  dominion  dwell, 
And  mortal  foot  hath  ne'er  or  rarely  been ; 


59 

To  climb  the  trackless  mountain  all  unseen, 
With  the  wild  flock  that  never  needs  a  fold  ; 

Alone  o'er  steeps  and  foaming  falls  to  lean  ; — 
This  is  not  solitude  ;  't  is  but  to  hold 
Converse  with  Nature's  charms,  and  view  her  stores  un 
rolled. 

But  midst  the  crowd,  the  hum,  the  shock  of  men, 

To  hear,  to  see,  to  feel,  and  to  possess, 
And  roam  along  the  world's  tired  denizen, 

With  none  who  bless  us,  none  whom  we  can  bless ; 

Minions  of  splendor,  shrinking  from  distress  ! 
None  that,  with  kindred  consciousness  endued, 

If  we  were  not,  would  seem  to  smile  the  less, 
Of  all  that  flattered,  followed,  sought  and  sued  ; — 
This  is  to  be  alone— this,  this  is  solitude  ! 


ON  CHRISTIAN  BENEVOLENCE. 

TO    MISS   S.    W.    H. 

Mine  !  be  the  most  delightful  task  to  pour, 

Into  the  woe-worn  agitated  breast, 

Some  gleams  of  comfort  to  illumine  o'er 

Sorrow's  sad  skies,  by  clouds  and  darkness  pressed. 

Since  bounteous  Providence  on  me  has  smiled, 

And  poured  its  copious  blessings  on  my  head, 

Regard  I  would  each  less  indulged  child, 

And  smooth  the  paths  their  feet  are  doomed  to  tread. 

Heaven  deigns  to  say,  I  shall  rewarded  be, 

When  I  because  such  do  the  Savior  love, 

Only  one  cup  of  water  shall  bestow ; 

Oh  !  boundless  grace  !  my  willing  feet  shall  move, 

Desirous  some  kind  office  to  perform, 

By  Him  more  valued  than  the  deeds  of  fame  ; 

Ilobed  with  a  nation's  honors  to  secure 

In  history's  annals  a  distinguished  name  ; 


60 

Deadened  alike  to  earth-born  selfish  aims  ; 

Glittering  applauses  that  attract  the  vain  ; 

Enthusiastic,  wild,  sectarian  flames. 

Heaven's  word  my  chart,  its  blissful  port  to  gain  f 

On  this  bright  mansion,  fixed  faith's  steadfast  eye; 

On  Zion's  King  my  every  burden  cast. 

Pardoned  and  saved  through  his  all  powerful  name  ! 

Each  sin  subdued,  and  death's  rough  channel  crossed, 

Receive  through  grace  the  plaudit  faithful  thou, 

Rich  fadeless  wreaths  shall  crown  thy  conquering  brow 


ON   CHRISTIAN    FRIENDSHIP. 

"  Antl  what  is  friendship  hut  a  name  ? 

A  charm  that  lulls  to  sleep, 
A  shade  that  follows  wealth  and  fame, 

But  leaves  the  wretch  to  weep  ?  " 

So  wrote  a  bard  in  melancholy  strain, 

And  thus  of  friendship  many  still  complain  ; 

Perhaps  some  potent  foe,  garbed  as  a  friend, 

Had  proffered  friendship  for  some  sordid  end. 

This  having  gained,  his  breast  with  grief  had  torn, 

And  left  him  thus  disconsolate  to  mourn  ; 

But  worldly  friendship  I  care  not  to  scan,— 

'T  is  said  a  "  foe  to  God  was  ne'er  true  friend  to  man  ; 

To  nobler  energies  I  would  aspire, 

A  flame  enkindled  by  celestial  fire, 

Such  as  in  brighter  worlds  shall  brighter  shine, 

Emblem  (though  faint)  of  purity  divine. 

A  Christian  friend  !  heart-cheering,  welcome  sound, 

Tell  me  !  oh,  ye  who  have  this  treasure  found ! 

Tell  me,  what  constitutes  a  Christian  friend  ? 

And  how  in  worth  such  worldly  friends  transcend  ? 

A  Christian  friend,  is  one  who  bears  the  name 

Of  Him,  who  for  his  friends  e'en  death  o'ercame  ! 

Who  bared  his  bosom  to  receive  the  dart 

Aimed  with  precision  at  his  faithful  heart ; 


61 

And  taught  his  followers,  such  as  bear  his  name, 

Should  each  possess  the  same  pure  genial  flame ; 

"  Hereby,"  said  he,  "  shall  all  men  fully  know 

That  you  are  mine,  when  each  this  fruit  shall  show." 

Oh,  all-important !  soul-transforming  theme  ! 

To  pen  these  truths  I  would  the  time  redeem ; 

And  while  I  joyfully  such  facts  rehearse, 

"Pant  to  record  them  in  immortal  verse  ;  " 

(But  I  digress)  what  is  a  Christian  friend  ? 

'T  is  one  whose  prayers  to  Heaven  for  me  ascend, 

Who  takes  a  lively  interest  in  each  care, 

And  of  each  burden  bears  an  equal  share  ; 

Who  watches,  lest  my  erring  feet  should  slide, 

And  is  the  first  with  tenderest  love  to  chide. 

Yet  from  the  public  gaze  each  fault  would  hide. 

Who  when  diseases  shall  this  frame  invade, 

And  warn  me  I  must  pass  through  death's  cold  shade, 

From  the  rich  treasury  of  God's  Holy  word 

Imparts  the  aid  those  precious  truth's  afford  ; 

Will  whisper  Jesus  on  my  closing  ear, 

That  name  which  death's  terrific  vale  can  cheer, 

And  dissipate  the  dire  nocturnal  gloom, 

That  hovers  o'er  the  entrance  to  the  tomb. 

Also,  when  the  last  trump  shall  rend  the  skies, 

And  bid  the  dead  from  their  long  slumbers  rise, 

Shall  hail  me  welcome  to  the  Savior's  feet, 

The  story  of  his  boundless  love  to  repeat ; 

To  strike  the  tuneful  chord,  the  anthem  swell, 

And  in  His  sacred  presence  ever  dwell. 


TO  MY  SON,  R.  S.  B. 

"He  made  the  sun  to  rule  the  day." 

Resplendent  shines  the  lamp  of  day, 
O'er  hill  and  valley,  field  and  plain ; 

Benignant,  influential  ray, 

Excelled  by  naught  in  nature's  chain. 


62 

Receding  from  its  destined  sphere, 
To  systems  hidden  from  our  sight  j 

Should  this  fair  orbit  cease  to  cheer, 
These  opaque  realms  with  beams  of  light  j 

Rendered  unfit  for  man's  abode, 

O'erwhelmed  with  old  chaotic  gloom, 

Naught  would  remain  of  all  earth's  horde, 
Gathered  her  tribes  in  one  vast  tomb. 

But  He  who  saw  the  abodes  of  man, 

Embryo' d  in  nonentity, 
Nicely  contrived  fair  nattire's  plan, 

Nor  shall  this  chasm  ever  be. 

Inviolate  the  promise  stands, — 

Summer  and  winter  shall  not  cease, 

"  Or  vintage  fail  the  reaper's  hands," 
Not  till  extends  the  reign  of  peace. 

And  then  o'erwhelmed  with  strange  surprise 
Earth  from  its  basis  shall  remove  ; 

The  dead  in  Christ  shall  first  arise, 
And  soar  triumphantly  above ; 

And  be  forever  with  their  Lord, 

Before  whose  presence  Sol 's  a  shade  ! 

What  comfort  should  these  words  afford, 
To  those  with  whom  the  covenant 's  made? 


TO  MY  SON,  C.  L.  B. 

"  The  fear  of  the  Lord  is  the  instruction  of  wiidom.' 

Created  with  capacious  powers, 

Hungerings  we  feel  for  perfect  bliss  ; 

And  oft  imagination  towers, 
Restless  to  gain  true  happiness. 


63 

Lured  by  gay  folly's  treacherous  smiles, 

Ensnared  by  her  deceitful  charms  ; 
See  many  undone  by  her  wiles, 

Learn  by  their  fate  to  avoid  the  Syren's  arms. 

(Unlike  the  moth  that  round  the  candle  plays, 
Nor  heeds  its  danger  'till  it  is  undone ;) 

Taught  by  their  downfall,  to  avoid  her  ways, 
Be  you  instructed  their  sad  fate  to  shun. 

Examine  oft  the  oracles  divine, 

Nor  unaccomplished  leave  what  they  require  ; 
(Not  as  a  scourge  were  these  pure  laws  designed,) 

Intrinsic  boon  !  given  by  the  eternal  Sire. 

Shall  we  neglect  His  precepts  to  obey  ? 

Or  spurn  the  blessings  offered  through  his  Son  ? 
No  !  let  us  hasten  to  be  wise  to-day, 

Lest  we  like  folly's  votaries  be  undone. 


TO  MY  SON,  E.  B. 
"  The  world  by  wisdom  knew  not  God." 

Each  breeze  that  rustles  through  the  trees,  or  o'er  the 

meadow  flies, 

Demonstrates  Power  supremely  good,  and  infinitely  wise  ; 
Where  is  this  glorious  power  revealed  ?  His  attributes  made 

known, 
Attentive  would  I  search  the  page  where  these  are  fully 

shown. 
Rich  the  enjoyments  I  receive,  while  on  earth's  charms  I 

gaze, 

Delighted  should  I  be  to  know  what  did  the  fabric  raise ; 
By  whom,  also,  the  solar  orb  emits  its  genial  flame, 
Enraptured  should  I  be  to  know  whence  the  eifulgence 


64 

Nor  less  should  I  enraptured  be,   to  know  the  lunar's 

source, 
Nor  less  to  scan  the  ornnific  power  that  points  the  comet's 

course ; 

Infinite  wisdom  seems  impressed  on  all  these  eyes  behold, 
Such  as  oft  leads  me  to  adore  the  power  these  works  un 
fold. 

Omniscience  has  not  left  our  race  thus  hopeless  to  explore, 
Nor  altars  rear  to   unknown  Gods,  on  which  incense  to 

pour; 
But  through  the  Gospel's  gladdening  streams  the  wished 

for  knowledge  gives, 

Knowledge  of  immortality,  through  Him  who  ever  lives. 
Knowledge  of  immortality  !   what  transport  fills  my  breast, 
Show  me  my  interest  in  that  word,  and  I  am  truly  blest ; 
Oh,  guide  me  to  its  author's  feet,  and  let  me  homage  pay, 
Show  me  the  laws  his  word  enjoins,  that  I  may  them  obey. 
Knowledge  of  immortality  !  oh,  most  transporting  sound  ! 
The  blessing  I  so  long  have  sought,   through  these  rich 

streams  I've  found ; 
To  Him  who  brought  the  grace  to  light,  be  ceaseless  praises 

given, 
By  all  to  whom  the  blessing  's  sent,  and  all  the  hosts  of 

Heaven ! 


TO  MY  DAUGHTER,  M.  E.  L.  B. 

"  Then  I  turned,  and  considered  wisdom,  and  I  saw  that  wisdom 
excelleth  folly,  as  much  as  light  excelleth  darkness." 

'Midst  folly's  allurements,  enticing  to  youth, 
A  voice  gently  sounds  through  the  scriptures  of  truth. 
"  Religion  as  taught  by  my  pages  divine, 
Yields  joys  that  will  flourish,  when  follies  decline; 
Each  rich  fact  believing,  each  statute  obeyed, 
Lights  life's  rugged  pathway,  and  death's  dreary  shade, 
In  vain  to  the  breast  where  these  truths  hold  their  sway, 
Zealous  folly  attempt  her  vain  charms  to  portray. 


65 

Attentively  study  this  life-giving  chart, 

Bind  its  doctrine  and  precepts  most  firm  on  your  heart ; 

Even  though  on  life's  sea  swells  the  billowy  wave, 

Thy  bark  thus  conducted,  each  storm  shall  outbrave." 

How  happy  the  youth  who  to  wisdom  incline, 

Like  the  sun  in  the  firmament  destined  to  shine  ; 

A  sacred  effulgence  around  their  path  beams, 

Diverse  from  vain  folly's  chimerical  gleams. 

Delightful  employments,  (unknown  to  the  vain,) 

Yield  pleasures  untarnished  by  guilt's  changeless  stain, 

Bring  hither,  oh,  votaries  to  folly's  gay  shrine  ! 

Each  richly- wrought  wreath,  that  your  temples  entwine. 

Now  unfurl  her  banners !  emblazon  her  fame  ! 

Now  tell  of  her  deeds,  and  her  triumphs  proclaim. 

In  her  self- kin  died  flames  shall  her  glories  expire, 

So  baneful  the  influence  her  maxims  inspire  ; 

Oh,  who  to  her  sway  would  their  reason  resign, 

Now  wisdom  invites  to  her  pleasures  divine. 


SELECTED. 

Mary,  the  boon  I  'd  ask  for  thee 
Would  be  a  life  from  sorrow  free ; 
That  every  morning  sun  should  rise 
To  gild  with  bliss  thy  youthful  skies, 
And  all  thy  hours  be  crowned  with  joy, 
Unsullied,  pure,  without  alloy. 
Yet  while  I  wish  this  wish  for  thee, 
Mary,  I  know  it  cannot  be ; 
This  life  's  a  stormy  sea  at  best — 
And  those  who  toss  upon  its  billow, 
Must  often  wear  an  aching  breast, — 
Must  often  weave  the  mournful  willow. 

But  there  's  a  haven  for  the  good, 
Far,  far  beyond  the  stormy  flood ; 
More  peaceful  than  the  sunny  lake, 
When  no  rude  winds  its  surface  break  ; 


66 

More  calm  than  summer  evenings  are, 
More  glorious  than  the  morning  star  ; 
And  the  blest  souls  who  enter  there, 
And  breathe  that  pure  and  heavenly  air, 
Are  more  secure  from  all  alarms, 
Than  infants  in  their  mother's  arms. 

May,  this  blest  haven  then  be  thine, 
And  this  I  know  can  be ; 
May'st  thou  inherit  joys  divine ; 
T  is  this  I  ask  for  thee. 


TO  MY  DAUGHTER,  M.  B.  B., 

A   PUPIL   IN   THE   AMERICAN  ASYLUM,    HARTFORD,    CONN. 

Mysterious  fiat,  that  binds  thy  tongue  in  chains  ! 

And  shuts  thine  ears  from  hearing  mortal  strains  ; 

Thy  intellectual  energies  confines, 

In  dark  recesses  where  no  science  shines  ; 

Life  surely  must  of  half  its  joys  be  shorn ; 

Death,  it  would  sometimes  seem  were  easier  borne. 

A  cloud  thus  dense,  o'erspread  thy  early  skies, 

But  from  its  gloominess  destined  to  arise, 

Rich,  sacred  truths,  and  high  scholastic  lore, 

Into  thy  mind  enriching  streams  now  pour. 

And  what  has  consummated  this  vast  change  ? 

No  surgical  performance  could  arange 

The  diseased  organ  of  the  deafened  ear  ; 

But  to  thy  mental  faculties  appear 

Energies,  sure  Heaven  taught,  for  what  less  could  teach 

Nicely  constructed  plans  the  mind  to  reach, 

Not  aided  by  the  sounds  of  human  speech  ? 

I  would,  but  ah  !  what  language  can  I  find, 

Suited  to  express  the  feelings  of  my  mind  ? 

On  reading  letters  recently  from  thee, 

"  Now  I  can  read  my  bible,"  there  I  see  ! 


67 

I  pause — but  may  indulgent  Heaven  pour 

It 's  in  one  rich,  exhilarating  shower, 

Blessings  on  those  who  for  the  deaf  mute  care, 

And  for  their  aid  instruction  thus  prepare. 

May  the  kind  Matron,  Principal,  and  Teachers  know 

The  joys  that  from  all  earthly  blessings  flow, 

And  an  admittance  to  those  brighter  skies, 

Where  they  have  taught  the  deaf  mute's  hopes  to  rise. 

And  may  each  pupil  fully  estimate, 

And  most  attentive  on  their  teachings  wait. 

Your  father  joins  with  me  in  love  to  you, 

Also  your  sisters  ;  my  dear  child,  adieu. 

D.  M.  B. 


TO  MY  DAUGHTER,  J.  C.  B. 

We  do  all  fade  as  the  leaf."     I  thought  upon  my  ways,  and  turned 
my  feet  to  thy  testimonies." 

Just  as  the  lovely,  transient  morning  flower, 
Attracts  and  charms,  then  quickly  fades  away, 
No  more  to  deck  the  garden,  vale  or  bower, 
Even  so  our  life,  and  youthful  joys  decay. 
Come  aid  my  pencil,  ye  who  know  to  paint 
Life's  flowery,  varied,  most  attractive  joys, 
And  say,  do  not  all  wear  this  changeless  taint, 
Recede  we  must,  time's  grasp  our  bloom  destroys  ; 
Regardless  of  the  volume  nature  spreads, 
In  verdant  grandeur,  or  rich  boundless  grace  ; 
Streaming  from  mercy's  pure  exhaust  less  fount, 
See  the  young,  gay,  the  thoughtless  eager  pace, 
(And  aged,  too,)  the  road  that  folly  treads. 
Behold !  the  hapless  victims  throng  her  gate, 
Enchanted  by  her  syren  magic  spell ; 
Nor  heed  (though  often  warned)  the  direful  fate, 
Now  hovering  where  her  boasted  glories  dwell. 
Is  there  no  force  to  break  these  luring  ties, 
So  fascinating,  ruinous  and  vain  ? 
Only  consider, — and  the  phantom  flies ; 
Next  follow  wisdom  and  you  freedom  gain. 


68 


TO  MY  DAUGHTER,  M.  H.  S.  B. 

Mild  are  the  gentle  summer  showers, 

And  soft  the  streams  that  onward  glide, 

Refreshing  meadows,  glens,  and  bowers, 

Gardens,  and  fields  of  flowery  pride  ; 

And  soothing  words,  and  actions  kind, 

Refresh  the  heart  where  sadness  reigns, 

Enerve  the  anguish  of  the  mind, 

The  gushing  tear  of  grief  restrains. 

How  most  unenviable  the  breast, 

Even  though  with  pearls,  and  woven  gold 

Laden,  and  with  rich  diamonds  dressed, 

Emblazoning,  varied  tints  unfold  ; 

Ne'er  touched  by  sorrow's  moving  strains, 

Bleeds  not  at  tales  of  lengthened  woes  ; 

Entranced  by  selfish  views  and  schemes, 

No  charitable  gift  bestows. 

Not  so  the  generous  and  kind, 

Instructed  by  rich  sacred  lore  ; 

See  !  these  pour  treasures  on  the  mind, 

Or  bashful  misery's  haunts  explore, 

Nor  with  a  sparing  hand  impart  their  store. 

And  as  the  soft,  the  gentle  showers, 

Water  the  sun-lit  teeming  earth, 

Refreshing  gardens,  vales,  and  bowers, 

And  aiding  vegetation's  birth. 

So  these  choice  spirits  of  a  heavenly  mould, 

Their  priceless  blessings  round  them  fling  ; 

Although  no  gems,  or  woven  gold, 

Adorn  the  shrines  from  whence  they  spring. 


69 


TO  MY  DAUGHTER,  A.  W.  B. 
'Then  I  saw  that  wisdom  excelleth  folly."  —  THE  PREACHER. 

A  mind  that 's  formed  for  everlasting  bliss, 

No  sublunary  joys  can  satisfy; 

Nothing  that  's  found  in  such  a  world  as  this, 

Affords  fit  scope  for  its  immensity  ! 

Wisdom  displays  her  pure  resplendent  light, 

And  folly,  too,  each  gay  alluring  beam ; 

Like  streams  opposing,  each  would  thus  invite, 

Known  to  my  paths  alone,  is  bliss  supreme. 

Enquire  of  him,  who  once  with  folly's  train, 

Revelled  in  all  the  joys  her  tents  supply, 

liy  him  't  is  thus  recorded,  "  all  are  vain, 

Enchant  they  may,  but  cannot  satisfy." 

Next,  hear  him  on  fair  wisdom's  merits  dwell, 

(No  glittering  wreaths  her  temples  mild  entwine,) 

"  I  saw  that  wisdom,  folly  did  excel," 

So  lit  my  torch  at  her  rich  lamp  divine, 

On  her  pure  altar  would  my  offerings  pour, 

Nor  thirst  for  folly's  vain  attractions  more. 


THE  TIME  TO  DIE. 

SELECTED. 

I  asked  a  glad  and  happy  child, 

Whose  hands  were  filled  with  flowers, 
Whose  silvery  laugh  rang  free  and  wild 

Among  the  vine-wreathed  bowers  ; 
I  crossed  her  sunny  path  and  cried, 

"  When  is  the  time  to  die  ? " 
"Not  yet !  not  yet !  "  the  child  replied, 

And  swiftly  bounded  by. 


70 

I  asked  a  maiden ;  back  she  threw 

The  tresses  of  her  hair ; 
Grief's  traces  o'er  her  cheek  I  knew, 

Like  pearls  they  glistened  there  ; 
A  flush  passed  o'er  her  lily  brow, 

I  heard  her  spirit  sigh  ; 
"  Not  now  !  "  she  cried,  "  O,  no  !  not  now, 

Youth  is  no  time  to  die  !  " 

I  asked  a  mother  as  she  pressed 

Her  first-born  in  her  arms, 
As  gently  on  her  tender  breast, 

She  hushed  her  babe's  alarms ; 
In  quivering  tones  her  answer  came, 

Her  eyes  were  dim  with  tears  ; 
"  My  boy  his  mother's  life  must  claim, 

For  many,  many  years." 

I  questioned  one  in  manhood's  prime, 

Of  proud  and  fearless  air  ; 
His  brow  was  furrowed  not  by  time, 

Or  dim  by  woe  or  care  ; 
In  angry  accents  he  replied, 

And  flashed  with  scorn  his  eye ; — 
"  Talk  not  to  me  of  death,"  he  cried, 

For  only  age  should  die." 

I  questioned  age ;  for  him  the  tomb 

Had  long  been  all  prepared  ; 
But  death,  who  withers  youth  and  bloom, 

This  man  of  years  had  spared. 
Once  more  his  nature's  dying  fire, 

Flashed  high  as  thus  he  cried  : 
"  Life  !  only  life  is  my  desire !  " 

Then  gasped,  and  groaned,  and  died. 

I  asked  a  Christian — answer  thou, 

When  is  the  hour  of  death  ? 
A  holy  calm  was  on  his  brow, 

And  peaceful  was  his  breath ; 
And  sweetly  o'er  his  features  stole, 

A  smile,  a  light  divine ; 
He  spake  the  language  of  his  soul, — 

"My  Master's  time  is  mine !  " 


71 

THE  BEAUTIES  OF  NATURE. 

BY   MISS   FRANCES   L.    HYDE. 

How  glorious,  how  beautiful  all 

The  works  of  God !  there  's  not  the  smallest  thing 

In  all  the  vast  and  unlimited  field  of 

Nature,  but  will  reveal,  if  closely  scanned, 

Some  lineament  of  grace,  a  something 

To  admire.     The  humblest  flower,  that  lifts 

Its  tiny  leaves  up  to  the  sun,  is  ripe 

With  beauty ;  with  what  matchless  symmetry 

The  little  bud  is  folded,  how  sweetly 

The  colors  blend  in  its  dainty  leaf,  yet 

It  is  passed  unnoticed,  and  the  frail  flow'r 

Blooms  in  its  lonely  home,  unrewarded, 

Unregarded. 

O  nature,  thou  art  a 

Glorious  field  for  thought !     I  look  around 
Upon  thy  broad  domain,  survey  thy  wild 
Fantastic  scenes,  thy  towering  mountains, 
Rugged  heights,  those  gloomy  monarchs,  that  from 
Age  to  age,  mock  all  time's  changes,  and 
Rear  aloft  their  frowning  brows,  with  the  same 
Eternal  grandeur,  as  when  Jehovah 
First  placed  them  there. 

O  how  the  soul  expands, 
When  the  immensity  of  Creation 
Is  considered  !  what  an  august,  what  an 
Amazing  conception,  does  the  planetary 
System  afford,  of  the  glorious  works 
Of  our  creation  !  when  the  shades  of  night 
Steal  over  the  landscape,  and  nature  seems 
Hushed  in  sweet  repose,  then  far,  far  away 
Amid  the  floating  ether,  ten  thousand 
Brilliant  orbs  send  forth  their  hallowed  light, 
Cheering  the  immensity  of  space,  and 
Displaying  in  silent  magnificence, 
The  great  and  glorious  mechanism 
Of  our  Creator.     How  strange,  and  yet  how 
Beautiful !     What  a  theatre  of  light  and 


Glory  !     Oh,  how  sweet  to  bow  before  the 
Great  and  wonderful  author,  who  rills 
The  vacuity  with  his  presence,  whose 
Hand  pointed  out  the  orbit  of  the  stars, 
And  poured  the  mighty  ocean  into  its 
Fathomless  abyss. 

And  now,  O  feeble 

Mortal,  what  art  thou  ?     Lift  up  thine  eyes,  and 
Behold  the  wisdom  of  thy  God  !  thinkest  thou, 
Of  that  great  secret  agent,  that  causeth 
These  worlds  of  light  to  dance  the  mazy  round, 
O'er  circling  ages  ?     Canst  thou  improve  one 
Portion  of  the  harmony  and  beauty 
Of  the  vast  creation  ?     Ah  no  !  for  God 
Hath  made  every  thing  "perfect "  in  his  time. 


MY  ROSE-BUSH. 

TO   MISS   A.    L. 

A  lovely  rose-bush  I  possessed, 

No  flowers  I  thought  were  half  so  fair, 

Nor  e'er  by  me  were  thus  caressed  — 

To  rear  them  was  my  constant  care. 

Lo  !  some  rude  hand  the  branches  lopped  ! 

Ere  half  the  flowers  their  hues  displayed, 

And  though  by  me  they  oft  were  propped, 

Vain  was  my  care,  they  soon  decayed. 

Is  life  compared  to  lovely  flowers  ? 

Thought  I,  and  must  it  thus  decay  ? 

'T  is  wise  to  improve  the  fleeting  hours 

Ere  potent  time  asserts  its  sway. 

To  awake  rich  feelings  in  the  mind, 

These  variegated  flowers  seem  given ; 

Their  transient  beauties  seem  designed, 

To  raise  the  thoughts  from  earth  to  Heaven ; 

There 's  not  a  plant,  a  bud,  a  tree, 

There 's  not  a  flower  that  decks  the  field, 


73 


But  to  my  friend  may  useful  be, 

And  lessons  of  instruction  yield. 

Had  no  rude  hand  my  roses  spoiled, 

Time  would  have  laid  their  glories  low, 

And  should  Death  spare  our  youthful  ones, 

To  Time's  rude  sceptre  they  must  bow. 

"  Be  wise  betimes,"  (a  sage  has  said,) 

"  'T  is  very  madness  to  delay," 

To  barter  everlasting  joys, 

For  those  which  pass  as  flowers  away. 


WHAT  IS  HEAVEN  ! 

SELECTED. 

Say,  what  is  Heaven  ?    The  palace  of  the  King 
Who  reigns  omnipotent,  supreme  o'er  all ; 

The  great  high  throne  of  Deity,  where  sing 
The  saints  and  angels  all  around,  and  fall 
In  humble  adoration. 

It  is  the  better  country  far  above, 

The  promised  land  where  all  things  are  possessed, 
Where  those  redeemed  for  ever  dwell  in  love, 

Inheriting  the  portion  of  the  blessed, 
Rejoicing  in  the  Giver. 

It  is  the  holy  place  most  pure,  within 

The  azure  curtain  of  the  starry  sky, 
Where  fully  sanctified,  and  free  from  sin, 

The  soul  in  sweetest  fellowship  draws  nigh 
To  Him  who  is  most  holy. 

It  is  the  paradise  of  bliss,  where  more 

Than  Eden's  beauties  and  delights  are  found, 

And  none  of  all  the  full  and  varied  store, 

Of  human  woes  which  mar  this  sin-cursed  ground, 
Are  felt  or  ever  enter. 

6 


74 

It  is,  we  know,  the  presence  of  our  God, 
Seen,  felt,  enjoyed,  without  a  single  cloud 

To  dim  the  splendor  shining  all  abroad, 

And  brightening  onward  for  the  ransomed  crowd 
An  endless  day  of  glory. 

It  is  the  house,  the  home,  the  rest,  the  joy, 
Of  pilgrims  of  the  cross  whose  course  is  run  ; 

Theirs  was  the  faith  that  nothing  could  destroy  ; 
With  Christ  they  are,  their  reign  of  bliss  begun, 
They  shine  as  stars  forever. 

If  such  be  Heaven,  't  is  surely,  above  all, 
A  place,  an  object,  worthy  to  be  sought 

By  us  who  know  that  shortly  we  must  fall, 

Bereft  of  earthly  things  which  come  by  nought ; 
'T  is  time  to  live  for  Heaven. 


TO  MISS  M.  E.  B. 

«  The  grass  withereth,  and  the  flower  thereof  falleth  away,  but  the 
Word  of  the  Lord  endureth  forever." — Apostle  Peter. 

Monotory  wreaths  't  is  fit  to  form  of  flowers, 
As  they  fit  emblems  seem  to  be,  of  youth's  gay,  thought 
less  hours  ; 

Rich  are  their  variegated  tints,  and  rich  their  fragrance,  too, 
Yet,  quick  their  lovely  charms  recede  from  the  beholder's 

view ; 
Even  thus,  our  youthful  ones  appear,  they  flourish,  and 

look  gay, 

Like  these,  also,  their  youthful  bloom  is  subject  to  decay. 
Intrinsic  Time,  with  footsteps  fleet,  asserts  his  potent  reign, 
Zealous  his  victories  to  complete,  his  ruthless  sway  main 
tain  ; 
And  though  admonished  of  its  speed,  and  its  importance, 

too, 

By  Folly's  airy  train  mislead,  too  many  her  pursue. 
Entered  her  tents,  (ah  !  hapless  ones)  her  perishable  wreaths, 
The  emblems  of  neglected  time,  each  from  her  hand  re- 
*  ceives ; 


75 

Her  vain  attractions  quickly  fade,  and  leave  no  trace  behind, 

But  sad  remembrance  of  the  past  to  agonize  the  mind ; 

Even,  while  they  sipped  ambrosial  sweets  from  her  en 
chanted  streams, 

Reflection  (most  unwelcome  guest)  embittered  their  gay 
dreams. 

Regard  fair  Wisdom's  sacred  voice,  my  heaven-instructed 
friend,* 

Yield  to  her  soft,  unearthy  calls,  to  her  pure  statutes  bend  ; 

Mild  are  her  rays  as  summer  eve,  when  rainbows  gem  the 
sky, 

Around  her  pathway  glory  gleams,  and  points  to  worlds  on 
high; 

Not  ruthless  time,  nor  Death's  cold  hand,  that  chills  life's 
crimson  flow, 

Can  dispossess  the  happy  breast,  of  joys  her  votaries  know. 


WHAT  IS  LIFE? 

BY     J.      MONTGOMERY. 

What  is  life  ?  't  is  a  delicate  shell 
Thrown  up  by  eternity's  flow, 

On  time's  rugged  quicksands  to  dwell, 
And  a  moment  its  loveliness  show. 

Gone  back  to  its  element  grand 

Is  the  billow  that  washed  it  on  shore  ; 

See  !  another  is  washing  the  strand, 
And  the  beautiful  shell  is  no  more. 


*  "  From  a  child  thou  hast  known  the  Scriptures,"  &Xr—Jiposile  Paul 
to  Tbnothy." 


76 


TO  MISS  A.  S., 

ON    THE    ANTICIPATION    OF    HER   MARRIAGE,   AND   DEPARTURE 
TO   A   DISTANT   LAND. 

Redeeming  love,  with,  bands  unknown  to  fame, 
Will  cement  those  who  own  Messiah's  sway  ; 

Mountains  and  seas  their  bodies  may  divide, 
But  all  are  one  whom  the  same  Lord  obey. 

Nor  shall  the  flame  grow  languid,  or  decay, 

By  passing  through  death's  dark,  cold,  dreary  shade  ; 

But  be  renewed,  from  nature's  dross  refined, 
"When  worldly  friendship  with  the  world  shall  fade. 

May  these  reflection's  soothe  thy  gentle  breast, 

Saddened  sometimes  by  thoughts  of  friends  and  home, 

For  tender  recollections,  deep  impressed, 

Are  not  erased,  though  far  the  footsteps  roam. 

But  the  rich  thought,  that  on  the  altar  reared 
Before  the  throne,  the  prayers  of  saints  ascend, 

Has  many  voluntary  exiles  cheered, 

And  still,  as  incense,  supplications  blend. 

llay'st  thou  before  this  altar  often  bend, 

With  Him  whom  thou  hast  chose  thy  guide  to  be ; 

A  husband  blended  with  a  Christian  friend, 
Is  a  rich  gift, — this  Heaven  bequeaths  to  thee. 

Salem,  June  8,  1847. 


MY  LATE   TOUR   TO   NEWBURYPORT,   AND  ITS 
VICINITY. 

My  health  declining,  I  the  city  left, 

And  bent  my  footsteps  toward  my  earlier  home, 

And  after  kindest  greetings  from  my  friends, 

The  grave-yard  sought,  a  pensive  hour  to  roam, 

Where  rest  my  father's  sires  in  calm  repose, 

'  Till  the  last  trump  shall  through  each  vault  resound, 

And  Heaven's  exalted  Majesty  disclose, 

While  angel  harpings  fill  the  vast  profound. 


77 

I  sat  me  down  upon  the  grassy  bed 

Of  one  most  revered,  and  whose  name  I  bear, 

Whose  hand  my  father's  infant  footsteps  led, 

And  taught  him  Heaven  would  hear,  and  answer  prayer ; 

And  very  sacred  was  the  spot  to  me  ! 

My  grand-sire,  too,  was  interred  by  her  side, 

The  good,  the  kind,  the  generous  was  he, 

"Whose  sympathies  extended  far  and  wide ; 

Their  characters  had  often  been  portrayed 

By  both  my  parents,  and  it  was  my  aim 

To  walk  like  these  fair  wisdom's  shining  way, 

And  feel  the  same  pure  philanthropic  name. 

Some  of  their  children's  dust  was  near  them  laid 

With  other  kindred's,  in  this  cold  retreat ; 

And  though  in  distant  lands  others  had  paid 

Nature's  last  debt,  all  soon  again  shall  meet ; 

The  sea,  too,  that  engulfed  one  lifeless  form, 

The  dear,  the  loved  deposit  shall  restore, 

For  all  alike  await  the  grand  transform, 

That  on  each  death-sealed  eyelid  light  shall  pour. 

'Twas  thus  I  mused,  when  gazing  'round  I  spied 

A  snow  white  stone,  and  toward  it  bent  my  way. 

It  bore  the  name*  of  an  affianced  bride, 

In  youth's  gay  bloom,  to  death's  cold  grasp  a  prey ; 

And  though  a  distant  relative  of  mine, 

The  paths  she  trod  to  me  were  quite  unknown ; 

Whether  she  bowed  at  Folly's  glittering  shrine, 

Or  numbered  with  the  wise,  among  them  shone  ; 

But  sure  she  prized  the  oracles  divine  ! 

For  to  her  affianced  she  this  treasure  gave, 

As  though  she  would  have  said,  this  hope  is  mine, 

The  sinner's  friend  my  helpless  soul  will  save  ! 

And  though  the  bridal  wreath  designed  for  me, 

Thine  hand  shall  on  another's  brow  entwine, 

May  my  brief  race  a  lesson  prove  to  thee, 

And  cause  thy  heart  toward  wisdom  to  incline. 

And  he,  to  mark  the  spot  where  lies  enshrined 

Her  sleeping  dust,  this  monument  has  reared ; 

May  its  inscription  lead  some  youthful  mind 

To  own  Jehovah's  word  should  be  revered. 

Evening  with  sable  curtains  drawing  near, 

I  left  the  place,  most  feelingly  impressed 

With  thoughts  like  these, — when  Jesus  shall  appear, 

Shall  I  receive  a  lot  among  the  blessed  ? 

*  Miss  S.  A.  A. 


78 


TO  A  FRIEND. 

Lines  written  by  Miss  S.  A.  A.,  of  Newbury,  and  placed  in  her  Bible 
with  a  request  that  it  should  be  given  to  her  affianced  bridegroom. 

Yes,  I  must  die  !  the  change  draws  near, 
Oh,  though  most  loved,  forever  dear  ! 
"When  silent  darkness  wraps  me  'round, 
When  thou  shalt  mark  how  low  I  lie, 
Wilt  thou  not  breathe  one  tender  sigh, 
And  drop  a  tear  upon  the  mound  ? 

How  scanty  were  the  flowers  that  grew 
Along  life's  path  ;  and  ah,  how  few 
The  pleasures  that  were  scattered  'round  ; 
But  the  thorns  to  wound  shall  cease, 
And  my  freed  spirit  rest  in  peace ; 
Then  drop  a  tear  upon  the  mound. 

If  near  the  solemn  spot  you  rove, 
In  converse  with  the  friend  you  love, 
Then  say,  should  any  pause  be  found, 
Here  rests  a  heart  that  was  my  own  — 
That  beat  for  me,  and  me  alone, 
Till  laid  beneath  that  little  mound. 

S,...  A...  A 


TO  NEW  ENGLAND. 

NEW  ENGLAND  !  were  it  gracious  Heaven's  design 
That  changeless  wreaths  of  gladness  should  entwine 
A  nation  on  the  earth,  these  wreaths  were  thine  ; 
But  changeless  joys  are  not  the  fruit  of  earth, 
They  claim  a  pure,  celestial,  heavenly  birth  ; 
And  though  thy  soil  is  fertile,  and  thy  air 
Is  most  salubrious,  thou  must  also  share 
Thy  destined  lot  of  dire,  remediless  woes, 
Which  to  ameliorate,  Benevolence  throws 


79 

Her  influential,  gladdening,  potent  charms, 

And  saddest  scenes  of  half  their  force  disarms  ;— 

By  her  volition  companies  combine, 

Each  emulous  all  others  to  outshine ; 

Their  different  interests  blended  in  one  aim, 

Emits  one  genial,  philanthropic  flame  ! 

I  cannot  name  them  all,  but  foremost  stand 

Those  who  distribute  Bibles  through  the  land. 

Next,  Education,  with  majestic  grace, 

Bids  Ignorance  to  her  high  reign  give  place. 

Next,  Washingtonian,  and  Temperance  bands, 

Of  different  names,  unite  their  friendly  hands ; 

And  Peace  Societies,  on  balmy  wing 

Their  olive  wreaths  and  unstained  banners  bring, 

And  would  remind  the  warrior  of  those  strains 

That  once  saluted  humble  Bethlehem's  plains  ; 

And  many  stately  structures  meet  our  eyes, 

Whose  aims  thee  bless,  and  other  lands  surprise. 

See,  an  infirmary  for  the  eye  and  ear, 

The  poor  are  gratuitously  aided  here ; 

An  institution  to  instruct  the  blind, 

Also  another  to  restore  the  mind 

Of  the  wild  maniac  ;  and  for  those  provide 

Whose  maladies  have  human  skill  defied. 

And  here  is  one  entitled  to  high  fame, 

To  instruct  the  deaf  mute  its  exalted  aim ; 

Where  those  of  intellectual  strength  profound, 

Whose  ears  are  closed  to  each  harmonious  sound, 

Whose  thirst  for  knowledge  leads  them  to  explore 

Its  utmost  limits ;  deprecate  no  more 

Their  incapacity  science  to  gain, 

But  its  most  lofty  summit  may  attain. 

And  who  are  these  of  philanthropic  mould, 

Who  to  the  world  its  mysteries  unfold  ? 

Whose  noble,  generous,  Heaven- approving  aim, 

Is  from  degrading  influence  to  reclaim 

The  hapless  fomale,  on  whose  wretched  head 

Reproach  her  baneful  canopy  has  spread. 

Oh  !  base  destroyer  of  domestic  bliss  ! 

Canst  thou  inhabit  such  a  land  as  this  ? 

Is  thy  vice-steeled,  impenetrable  breast 

Of  every  tender  feeling  dispossessed  ? 

Canst  thou  behold  such  generous  efforts  made 

To  aid  the  victims  by  thy  wiles  betrayed, 


80 

And  not  to  thy  own  bosom  censure  take, 

And,  to  the  utmost,  reparation  make  ? 

Then  quickly  to  some  trackless  desert  flee, 

And  rid  New  England  of  a  wretch  like  thee  ! 

I  leave  thee  to  thy  conscience,  and  thy  God  ! 

May  the  seducer's  paths  no  more  be  trod 

By  those  who  to  New  England  affiance  claim, 

Or  tarnish  this  illustrious  nation's  fame. 

And  who  are  these  by  kind  attentions  led  ? 

A  band  of  orphans,  nurtured,  clothed  and  fed  ; 

NEW  ENGLAND,  may  thy  annals  ever  bear 

Such  rich  memorials  of  thy  fostering  care  ; 

Here,  too,  from  their  galled  limbs,  Africa's  race 

Their  fetters  break,  and  find  a  resting  place, 

And  friends,  who  pity,  soothe,  and  would  redress 

Their  direful  wrongs,  and  saddened  spirits  bless. 

Truly,  benevolence  is  of  heavenly  birth, 

Sent  by  its  origin  to  bless  our  earth. 

I  do  not  knoAv,  and  therefore  cannot  name 

All  institutions  that  should  notice  claim  ; 

And  shall  to  those  of  skill  surpassing  mine, 

This  pleasing,  most  elaborate  task  resign. 

I  call  on  these  to  rally  'round  thy  slirine, 

And  ask  the  world  if  mammon's  cause  be  thine  ? 

True,  there  are  individuals,  in  whose  breasts 

This  God  takes  up  his  most  unhallowed  rest ; 

Such  as  acknowledge  his  degrading  reign, 

And  would  their  fellow-beings  firm  enchain. 

But  injudicious  must  that  writer  be, 

Who  can  such  proofs  of  pure  benevolence  see, 

And  mammon- worship  still  ascribe  to  thee  ! 

NEW  ENGLAND  !  were  it  gracious  Heaven's  design. 

That  changeless  wreaths  of  gladness  should  entwine 

A  nation  on  the  earth,  these  wreaths  were  thine. 


81 


MAMMON. 

SELECTED. 

What  countless  miseries,  and  what  untold  ills, 
God  of  this  world,  upon  thy  train  attend  ! 
What  floods  of  widows'  and  orphans'  tears 
Have  at  thy  bidding  flowed.    The  Savior's  laws 
Would  teach  us  to  do  good  to  all  mankind, 
To  covet  not,  but  hold  our  worldly  goods, 
As  stewards  under  him,  to  be  bestowed 
At  his  command.     O,  were  this  rule  obeyed 
By  all  who  here  profess  to  follow  him, 
How  changed  the  aspect  of  this  vale  of  tears, 
How  would  the  truth  be  quickened  in  its  course, 
And  Zion  from  the  dust  arise  and  sing. 
But  avarice  spreads  her  baleful  influence  round, 
Freezing  the  fount  of  Christian  sympathies, 
And  checking  man's  benevolence  to  man. 

As  sadly  thus  I  mused  at  eventide, 
The  "  timely  dew  of  sleep  "  rny  eyelids  closed, 
And  dream  usurped  the  place  of  waking  thought, 
When  lo  !  a  vison  strange  before  me  rose. 
Methought  that  time  on  earth  was  past ;  I  saw 
The  great  white  throne,  and  Him  who  sat  thereon, 
Before  whose  face  the  earth  and  heaven  fled  ! 
The  books  were  opened,  and  the  unnumbered  dead 
Before  Him  stood  to  wait  their  final  doom. 
I  gazed  with  awe  upon  the  concourse  vast, 
Of  every  age  and  nation  gathered  there  ; 
But  chief  observed  one  trembling,  gloomy  train, 
And  heard  the  Judge  their  fearful  fate  pronounce  : 
"  Ye  votaries  of  Mammon,  hence  depart ! 
Who  hoarded  wealth  on  earth,  but  were  not  rich 
Toward  your  God,  nor  treasure  had  in  heaven. 
For  I  was  naked  and  ye  clothed  me  not  — 
Sick  and  in  prison,  and  ye  came  not  there  — 
Hungry,  athirst,  ye  pitied  not."     And  then 
The  sad  response  came  up,  "  When  saw  we  thec 
In  prison,  sick,  or  hungry,  or  athirst, 
Or  naked,  and  relieved  thee  not  ? "     He  heard, 
And  pointing  to  the  hosts  of  ransomed  ones, 


82 

With  palms  of  victory,  and  robes  of  white, 
"Even  as  ye  did  it  not  to  these,"  he  said, 
"  Ye  did  it  not  to  me.     Here  ye  behold 
The  poor  despised  on  earth,  but  rich  in  faith, 
Heirs  of  the  kingdom  they  have  entered  now. 
But  ye  despised  the  poor,,  and  heeded  not 
The  words  I  spake,  '  It  is  more  blessed  to  give 
Than  to  receive.'     See  yon  shining  group, 
With  crowns  of  many  stars  ?    Those  were  on  earth 
My  faithful,  suffering  servants ;  there  they  toiled, 
With  voice,  and  pen,  and  press,  to  scatter  light 
O'er  a  sin- darkened  world  ;  while  ye  in  ease 
And  plenty  lived,  and  to  each  warm  appeal 
Turned  a  deaf  ear,  yea,  more,  your  hands  withheld 
Oftimes  their  lawful  dues,  their  service  paid 
With  careless,  cold  neglect.    Mistaken  souls  ! 
To  think  to  serve  your  God  and  Mammon  too  ; 
But  as  ye  sowed,  so  shall  ye  reap ;  on  earth 
Ye  sowed  unto  the  flesh ;  then  wonder  not 
That  of  the  flesh  ye  reap  corruption  now." 
In  terror  I  awoke,  and  trembling  prayed 
That  on  my  heart,  though  weak  and  erring  oft, 
This  blighting  curse,  this  foe  to  God  and  man, 
Might  never  lay  its  soul- destroying  power. 


FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  HOLTY. 

Oh  !  follow  ever  truth  and  right 

Till  in  thy  silent  grave, 

And  soften  not  a  finger's  breadth 

The  laws  which  Jesus  gave  ! 

So  shalt  thou  through  thy  pilgrim  life, 

As  through  green  meadows  pass, 

And  calmly  in  the  face  of  death, 

Look  without  fear  at  last ; 

So  children's  children  seek  thy  grave, 

And  tears  weep  there  upon  ; 

And  summer  flowers  of  fragrance  full, 

Shall  from  those  tears  be  born. 


TO  AMERICA. 

Welcome,  beyond  the  utmost  power, 

Of  words  to  speak,  the  day  will  be, 
When,  dear  America !  thy  sons 

The  colored  race  as  brethren  see  ! 
When  in  the  holy  house  of  prayer, 

With  you,  they  then  as  equals  kneel, 
That  house,  the  only  one  on  earth, 

Where  all  men  should  as  equals  feel. 

Beneath  that  roof  of  EQUAL  RIGHTS, 

If  tears  of  deep  repentance  fall, 
Whether  from  white  or  blackmen's  eyes, 

They  please  alike  the  Lord  of  all ; 
The  tints  of  those  who  pray  to  Him, 

He  heeds  not,  be  they  black  or  bright; 
He  only  sees  the  suppliants' s  heart, 

Content  if  THAT  be  pure  and  white  ! 

AMELIA  OPIE. 
Norwich,  Eng. 


FEEEDOM'S  BANNER. 

SELECTED  BY  E.  B. 

"  If  the  African  slave  trade  is  piracy,  the  coasting  slave  trade  cannot  be 
innocent,  nor  can  its  aggravated  turpitude  be  denied.  In  the  sight  of  the 
same  God  who  abhors  the  iniquity  of  the  African  slave  trade,  neither  the 
American  slave  trade  nor  slavery  itself,  can  be  held  guiltless." 

JOHN  Q.  ADAMS. 

My  country,  shall  thy  honored  name 
Be  as  a  by-word  through  the  world  ? 

Rouse  !  for  (as  if  to  blast  thy  fame) 
This  keen  reproach  is  at  th.ee  hurled — 

"  The  banner  that  above  thee  waves, 

Is  floating  o'er  three  million  slaves." 


84 

That  flag,  my  country,  I  had  thought, 
From  noble  sires  was  given  to  thee, 

By  the  best  blood  of  patriots  bought, 
To  wave  alone  above  the  free  ! 

Yet  now  while  to  the  breeze  it  waves, 

It  floats  above  three  million  slaves  ! 

The  mighty  dead  that  flag  unrolled, 

They  bathed  it  in  the  Heaven's  own  blue, 

They  sprinkled  stars  upon  each  fold, 
And  gave  it  as  a  trust  to  you ; 

And  now  that  glorious  banner  waves, 

In  shame  above  thee  million  slaves. 

Oh  !  by  the  virtues  of  our  sires, 
And  by  the  soil  on  which  they  trod  , 

And  by  the  trust  their  name  inspires, 
And  by  the  hope  we  have  in  God, — 

Arouse,  my  country,  and  agree, 

To  set  thy  captive  children  free  ! 

Arouse !  and  let  each  hill  and  glen, 
With  prayer  to  the  most  high  ring  out, 

Till  all  pur  land  with  free-born  men, 
May  join  in  one  triumphant  shout — 

That  freedom's  banner  does  not  wave 

Its  folds  above  a  single  slave  ! 

R.  C.  WATERSON. 


THE  SLAVE'S  MUSINGS. 

SELECTED. 

I  dreamed,  and  methought  the  fair  form  of  an  angel, 
Was  bending  in  love  o'er  the  place  of  my  rest ; 

And  silently  speaking  of  peace  to  the  troubled, 
My  spirit  was  glad,  for  the  angel  had  blest. 

The  woes  of  my  lot  entered  not  on  my  slumbers, 
And  sweet  were  the  hours  the  stranger  beguiled  ; 

Joy  entered  my  heart  with  its  soul-cheering  numbers, 
And  hope  through  my  features  unconsciously  smiled. 


85 

I  'woke,  for  the  morn  in  the  east  was  appearing, 

Its  rays  on  my  pillow  a  brilliancy  shed ; 
But  it  cheers  not  the  slave,  I  was  weary  and  lonely, 

And  hope  like  a  dream  from  my  bosom  had  fled. 

I  'm  a  bondman  and  toil  at  the  will  of  another, 
And  must  bear  the  lash  from  a  torturing  hand  ; 

My  body  is  sold,  and  my  soul  is  in  bondage, 
Oh  !  God  of  the  slave,  is  there  no  better  land  ? 

Where  !  ah,  tell  me  where  is  the  rich  germ  of  kindness, 
Of  which,  with  each  other  the  free  often  speak  ? 

While  the  weak  are  oppressed,  yea !  are  groping  in  blind 
ness, 
And  Christians  witholding  the  boon  which  they  seek. 

The  dream  of  the  night  threw  its  pleasures  around  me, 
My  wife  and  my  children  were  placed  by  my  side  ; 

But  the  morning  in  bondage  and  sorrow  has  found  me, 
And  the  vows  we  once  plighted,  men  scorn  and  deride. 

Alas  !  they  were  torn  from  a  fond  one's  protection, 
'    And  sold  at  the  auction  stand,  under  the  hammer, 
While  above  them  was  seen  on  the  light  breeze  unfurling, 
The  flag  of  the  Capitol,  LIBERTY'S  banner. 

I  gaze  on  the  forest,  the  river,  the  ocean, 

The  bark  that  sweeps  by  on  the  wide- spreading  wave ; 
All  are  glad,  but  I  feel  not  the  pleasing  emotion, 

And  weep  as  I  think  I  'm  a  slave,  I  'm  a  slave  ! 


From  the  Christian  Citizen. 
THE  VOICE  OF  THE  OPPRESSED. 

Hark  !  a  voice,  it  comes  with  sadness, 
From  yon  fair  and  sunny  land  — 

From  those  hearts,  unused  to  gladness, 
And  from  Afric's  sultry  strand ; — 


86 

Hearts  -which  beat  with  sad  emotion, 

As  they  cast  a  tearful  eye, 
O'er  Atlantic's  foaming  ocean, 

Where  their  friends  and  kindred  lie. 

Hark  !  a  voice,  it  comes  with  wailing, 

From  old  ocean's  rugged  waves, 
"Where  yon  guilty  barque  is  sailing, 

Stored  with  wretched,  captive  slaves  ; 
Oft  its  echo  comes  to  greet  us, 

In  this  boasted  land  and  free  ; 
Ah  !  how  will  their  groanings  meet  us, 

When  before  the  Deity  ? 

Hark  !  a  voice,  it  comes  with  anguish, 
Borne  upon  the  southern  air, 

Where  the  sons  of  bondage  languish, 
Hear  ye  not  the  captive's  prayer  ? 

Yes,  it  comes  in  sorrow  stealing 
On  the  wings  of  every  breeze ; 

List  ye,  those  of  honest  feeling, 

Say,  what  trembling  sighs  are  these  ? 


THE  NEGRO. 

Extract  from  Montgomery's  poem,  written  in  honor  of  the  abolition  of 
the  slave-trade  by  Gre^t  Britain. 

And  is  the  negro  outlawed  from  his  birth  ? 

Is  he  alone  a  stranger  on  the  earth  ? 

Is  there  no  shed,  whose  peeping  roof  appears 

So  lovely  that  it  fills  his  eyes  with  tears  ? 

No  land,  whose  name  in  exile  heard,  will  dart 

Ice  through  his  veins  and  lightning  through  his  heart  ? 

Ah  !  yes ;  beneath  the  beams  of  brighter  skies, 

His  home  amidst  his  father's  country  lies ; 

There,  with  the  partner  of  his  soul,  he  shares 

Love  mingled  pleasures,  love  divided  cares ; 


87 

There,  as  with  nature's  warmest,  filial  fire, 
He  sooths  his  blind,  and  feeds  his  helpless  sire  ;* 
His  children,  sporting  round  his  hut,  behold 
How  they  shall  cherish  him  when  he  is  old, 
Trained  by  example,  from  their  tenderest  youth, 
To  deeds  of  charity  and  words  of  truth. 

—  Is  HE  not  blest  ?    Behold,  at  closing  day,  ' 
The  negro  village  swarms  abroad  to  play  ; 

He  treads  the  dance  through  all  its  rapturous  rounds, 
To  the  wild  music  of  barbarian  sounds  ; 
Or,  stretched  at  ease,  where  broad  palmettos  shower 
Delicious  coolness  in  his  shadowy  bower, 

—  Is  not  the  negro  blest  ?    His  generous  soil 
With  harvest  plenty  crowns  his  simple  toil ; 
More  than  his  wants  his  flocks  and  fields  afford ; 
He  loves  to  greet  the  stranger  at  his  board. 


LEAGUE  OF  UNIVERSAL  BROTHERHOOD. 

SELECTED. 

Here  's  a  hand  for  thee,  my  brother, 

Whate'er  thy  hue  or  clime, 
Or  wheresoe'er  thy  lot  is  cast, 

In  the  worn  ways  of  time ; 
I  ask  not  now  thy  station, 

Poor,  rich,  or  low,  or  high, 
Nor  where,  within  the  broad,  green  earth, 

Thy  father's  ashes  lie. 

And  my  heart  is  with  my  hand,  brother, 

Come,  place  thy  hand  in  mine, 
And  let  an  answer  to  my  heart, 

Be  echoed  back  from  thine ; 
And  let  a  sacred  pledge  be  passed 

Between  us  now,  my  brother, 
To  live  in  peace  with  human  kind, 

In  friendship  with  each  other. 


*  They  are  d'stinguished  by  their  tenderness  for  their  parents,  and 


Those  who  are  nlvocates  for  slavery  would  do  well  to  examine  the  ac 
counts  given  by  Newton,  Mungo  Park,  Gregoire,  Progast,  Solbeny,  and 
others. 


88 


EXTRACT,  FROM  MELLEN. 

War  contrary  to  the  order  of  nature,  and  the  spirit  of  the  Gospel. 

The  glorious  company  of  stars, 
Journeying  in  peace  and  beauty  through  the  deep, 
Shining  in  praise  forever  !     They  look  down, 
Each  like  a  bright  and  calm  intelligence, 
Above  a  sphere  they  must  compassionate. 
There  is  no  war  among  these  sparkling  hosts  : 
They  go  in  silence  through  the  great  profound, 
Each  on  its  way  of  glory  ;  they  proclaim 
The  order  and  magnificence  of  Him 
"Who  bade  them  roll  in  peace  around  his  throne. 
Oh  !  when  the  planet  shone  o'er  Bethlehem, 
And  light  came  round  the  shepherds  on  the  hills, 
And  wise  men  'rose  in  wonder  from  their  dreams, 
There  came  a  voice  sublime  upon  the  winds, 
Proclaiming  peace  above  a  prostrate  world  ! 
The  morning  stars  sang  peace  ;  the  sons  of  God 
Struck  all  their  heavenly  lyres  again  ;  and  peace 
Died  in  symphonious  murmurs  round  the  babe. 
Thus  broke  salvation's  morning.     But  the  day 
Has  heard  new  sounds  ;  and  dissonant  and  dire, 
The  mingled  tumult  swelled  the  coming  storm, 
Darkening  its  path  with  black,  portentous  front, 
Until  it  burst  in  havoc  and  in  war  ! 
Oh  !  may  the  fearful  eventide  of  time 
Find  man  upon  the  dust  in  penitence, 
In  the  strong  brotherhood  of  peace  and  prayer. 


THE  BRAVE. 

SELECTED. 

Are  they  the  brave  who  madly  rush 
To  the  stern  battle-field, 

Resolved  an  enemy  to  crush  ? 

To  bid  the  heart's  red  fountain  gush, 
But  not  an  inch  to  yield  ? 


The  poet,  with,  his  choicest  lays, 

May  weave  for  them  a  crown ; 
And  willing  lips  their  deeds  may  praise, 
And  nations,  shafts  on  high  may  raise, 
To  blazon  their  renown ; — 

Yet  are  they  not  the  truly  bold  ; 

FEAR  arms  them  for  the  fight  ; 
A  fear,  Unwelcome  truth  to  hold, 
To  strive  with  errors  dark  and  old, 

And  suffer  for  the  RIGHT. 

But  they  are  brave  who  nobly  dare 

The  world's  proud  scorn  to  meet ; 
And  lovingly  the  truth  to  bear, 
Through  sin's  broad  empire  everywhere, 
In  conquest  or  defeat. 

Thus  Jesus,  'mid  neglect  and  shame — 

When  round  him  like  a  flood, 
'The  waves  of  persecution  came — 
Jehovah's  message  dared  proclaim, 
And  seal  it  with  his  blood. 


GENEROSITY. 

BY   D.    C.    COLESWORTHY. 

When  the  blessed  sunshine  falls 
On  the  prisoner's  gloomy  walls, 
How  it  doth  revive  the  breast : — 
Oh  !  it  is  a  glorious  guest ! 
So  are  generous  feelings  shown 
To  the  feeble,  faint  and  lone ; 
These  will  bless,  revive  and  cheer, 
Brush  away  misfortune's  tear. 
In  the  turmoil  of  the  day — 
When  the  sunlight  fades  away — 
7 


.    90 

Where  you  meet  a  wasted  form, 

Go  to  him  with  feelings  warm  ; 

Speak  kind  words — unseal  your  purse — 

Be  a  neighbor  and  a  nurse  ; 

'T  is  a  brother  sick  and  low  ; 

Go,  with  generous  feelings,  go. 


CALUMNY. 

SELECTED. 

Who  steals  my  purse  steals  trash  ! 
'T  was  mine,  't  is  his,  and  has  been  slave  to  thousands ; 
But  he  who  niches  from  me  my  good  name, 
Robs  me  of  that  which  does  not  him  enrich,  but  makes  me 
poor  indeed. 


SPEAK  NO  ILL. 

BY     CHARLES     SWAIN. 

Nay,  speak  no  ill !  a  kindly  word 

Can  never  leave  a  sting  behind, 
And  oh  !  to  breathe  each  tale  we've  heard 

Is  far  beneath  a  noble  mind. 
Full  oft  a  better  seed  is  sown 

By  choosing  thus  the  kinder  plan  ; 
For  if  but  little  good  be  known, 

Still,  let  us  speak  the  best  we  can. 

Give  me  the  heart  that  fain*  would  hide  ; 

Would  fain  another's  fault  efface  ; 
How  can  it  pleasure  human  pride 

To  prove  humanity  but  base  ? 


91 

No  :  let  us  reach  a  higher  mood, 
A  nobler  estimate  of  man  ; 

Be  earnest  in  the  search  for  good, 
And  speak  of  all  the  best  we  can. 

Then  speak  no  ill — but  lenient  be 

To  others'  failings  as  your  own  ; 
If  you  're  the  first  a  fault  to  see, 

Be  not  the  first  to  make  it  known ; 
For  life  is  but  a  passing  day, 

No  lip  may  tell  how  brief  its  span : 
Then,  oh  !  the  little  time  we  stay, 

Let 's  speak  of  all  the  best  we  can. 


CARELESS  WORDS, 

BY    MRS.     L.     P.     MORGAN. 

Beware,  beware  of  careless  words, 

They  have  a  fearful  power,     • 
And  jar  upon  the  spirit's  chords 

Through  many  a  weary  hour. 

Though  not  designed  to  give  us  pain, 
Though  but  at  random  spoken, 

Remembrance  brings  them  back  again, 
The  past's  most  bitter  token. 

They  haunt  us  through  the  toilsome  day, 

And  through  the  lonely  night, 
And  rise  to  cloud  the  spirit's  ray, 

When  all  beside  is  bright. 

Though  from  the  mind,  and  with  the  breath 
Which  gave  them,  they  have  flown, 

Yet  wormwood,  gall,  and  even  death, 
May  dwell  in  every  tone. 


And  burning  tears  can  well  attest 

A  sentence  lightly  framed 
May  linger,  cankering  in  the  breast 

At  which  it  first  was  aimed. 

Oh,  could  my  prayer  indeed  be  heard, 

Might  I  the  past  live  o'er, 
I  'd  guard  against  a  careless  word, 

E'en  though  I  spoke  no  more. 


A  FRAGMENT. 

BY     A.      S.     LOVELL. 

The  world  is  not  a  wilderness  entire  ; 

And  though  its  sterile  deserts,  lone  and  bare, 

Are  numerous  and  wide,  yet  there  are  sweet 

Refreshing  oases,  where  verdure  lives, 

And  beauty  blooms,  and  where  the  weary  soul 

May  rest  in  calm  Elysian  repose. 

Yes,  there  are  fountains  in  the  human  heart, 

Well-springs  of  bliss,  if  we  would  let  them  flow, 

Pure  as  the  dews  that  fell  on  Eden's  bowers. 

Man  has  the  power  to  be  an  angel,  girt 

With  mercy's  rainbow  cincture;  to  dispense 

The  gifts  of  Heaven ;  to  bless  in  being  blessed, 

And  be  blessed  in  blessing.     He  may  know 

The  peace  that  guardian  spirits  only  know, 

Hovering  on  wings  of  mercy  o'er  the  world  : 

When  pity  cheers  the  vale  of  poverty, 

Becomes  the  widow's  hope  and  friend,  and  leads 

The  little  orphan  by  the  hand,  and  guides 

Its  erring  feet,  and  points  its  infant  soul 

Up  to  its  Father,  God  ; — when  sympathy, 

In  soothing  kindness,  weeps  with  those  who  weep, 

Extracts  the  sting  from  misery,  and  pours 

A  healing  balm  on  sorrow's  wounded  heart ; — 

When  love  supports  the  trembling  steps  of  age, 


93 

Bestrews  affliction's  thorny  path  with  flowers, 

Pillows  the  dying  cheek  on  roses  plucked 

From  heaven  ;  when  it  inspires  another  self, 

And  melts  and  mingles  with  a  kindred  soul ; 

When  love,  and  sympathy,  and  pity,  hand 

In  hand,  an  angel  triad,  join  to  bless 

The  world  ; — O,  there's  a  sweet,  celestial  peace — 

A  breathing  of  immortal  life  steals  o'er 

The  thrilling  soul,  pure  as  the  tear  that  wept 

The  Pleiad  lost,  and  holy  as  the  light 

That  bathes  the  evening  star.     'Tis  like  the  strains 

That  steal  at  midnight  from  the  wind-harp's  strings 

Moved  by  a  seraph's  breath. 


LINES  BY  COWPER. 

The  rose  had  been  washed,  just  washed  in  a  shower, 

That  Mary  to  Anna  conveyed  ; 
The  plentiful  moisture  encumbered  the  flower, 

And  weighed  down  its  beautiful  head. 
I  hastily  seized  it,  unfit  as  it  was, 

For  a  nosegay,  so  dripping  and  drowned, 
And  seizing  it  rudely,  too  rudely,  alas  ! 

I  snapped  it — it  fell  to  the  ground. 
And  such,  I  exclaimed,  is  the  pitiless  part 

Some  take  by  the  delicate  mind, 
Regardless  of  wringing  and  breaking  a  heart 

Already  to  sorrow  consigned. 
This  beautiful  rose  (had  I  shaken  it  less) 

Might  have  bloomed  with  its  owner  awhile ; 
And  the  tear  that  is  wiped  with  a  little  address 

May  be  followed,  perhaps,  with  a  smile. 


94 


AFFECTED  SENSIBILITY. 

SELECTED. 

As  Julia,  'midst  a  blithesome  band, 

Enjoyed  a  morning  walk, 
Careful  she  raised  a  drooping  flower, 

And  tied  its  bending  stalk. 

"  Ah  !  live,"  she  cried,  "  most  lovely  rose, 
And  let  your  charms  expand  ; 

Free  to  the  view  your  sweets  disclose 
Nor  dread  the  spoiler's  hand." 

As  in  a  grove,  at  close  of  day, 

The  feeling  Julia  strayed, 
A  wretched  female  crossed  her  way. 

And  thus  implored  her  aid : 

"  In  pity  hear  sad  Emma's  prayer, 

And  by  your  bounty  save  ; 
My  father,  who  through  want  and  care 

Is  sinking  to  his  grave." 

In  vain  the  plaint  of  sad  distress 

Saluted  Julia's  ear, 
She  quickly  passed,  and  heeded  not 

The  suppliant's  sad  tear. 


CONVERSION  OF  DAVID  DREADNOUGHT. 

BY  DR.   WHITCHURCH. 

His  father  died  and  entered  into  rest ; 
Yet,  ere  he  died,  made  this  devout  request — 
Put  up  this  one  short  prayer  in  spirit  mild — 
Coirect,  oh  I  God,  but  save  my  wandering  child, 


95 

«  As  David  rambled  through  a  crowded  street, 

A  church*  with  open  doors  he  chanced  to  meet — 

He  entered,  gazed  around,  (the  scene  was  new) 

Then  sat  him  down  for  more  distinctive  view. 

Feelings  sublime  across  his  rugged  breast 

Now  stole,  and  scenes  gone  by  upon  him  pressed ;  " 

While  struggling  to  repress  the  truant  tear, 

"  Pray  without  ceasing"  breaks  upon  his  ear. 

It  was  the  preacher's  text ;  reasons  were  given 

Why  prayer  was  offered  to  the  King  of  Heaven ; 

Not  duty  only,  but  a  privilege  great, 

For  man  to  bow  before  God's  mercy  seat. 

Also,  life's  gate  was  narroAV,  and  that  there 

No  traveller  gains  a  passport  without  prayer ; 

He  recollected  wrhat  his  life  had  been, — 

A  prayerless  life  of  folly  and  of  sin. 

His  stricken  heart  awhile  with  sorrow  bled, 

Involuntary  tears  of  grief  were  shed  ; 

Thus  heavenly  seed  was  sown  to  take  deep  root, 

Spring  up  to  life,  and  bear  immortal  fruit. 

The  next  we  hear  of  Dreadnought,  on  the  deep 

It  was  his  turn  the  nightly  watch  to  keep ; 

Deep  silence  reigned  throughout  the  vast  profound, 

Broke  only  by  the  billows'  murmuring  sound ; 

The  crescent  moon  rose  from  her  oasy  bed, 

And  o'er  the  scene  her  mild  effulgence  shed ; 

It  was  an  hour  most  fitted  to  inspire 

The  breast  with  sacred,  rich,  and  chaste  desire  ; 

"Pray  without  ceasing  "  fixes  on  his  mind, 

He  fears  to  pray,  though  much  to  prayer  inclined ; 

"  Pray  without  ceasing  "  presses  on  him  still ; 

Fain  would  he  pray,  but  lacks  the  holy  skill ; 

Fain  would  he  raise  to  Heaven  the  urgent  cry, 

But  on  his  trembling  lips  the  accents  die. 

"  His  watch  expired,  he  for  the  book  of  truth 

(Given  by  his  father  in  his  happier  youth) 

Searches, — and  grasps  it  with  a  trembling  hand, 

Determined  to  obey  each  high  command." 

Too  long,  alas  !  it  had  neglected  lain, 

Its  sacred  page  defiled  with  many  a  stain  ! 

That  sacred  book  unread  for  many  years, 

He  now  bedews  with  penitential  tears  ! 

*  St.  Paul's,  London. 


96 

A  Savior's  love  causes  that  heart  to  melt, 
Which  real  joy  'till  now  had  never  felt, 
"  And  to  the  world  he  gladly  would  make  known 
The  wondrous  grace  through  the  rich.  Gospel  shown." 
Dreadnought  reads  on,  his  heaven-taught  mind  ex 
pands, 

The  more  he  reads,  the  more  he  understands ; 
And  on  those  stubborn  knees,  unused  to  bend, 
He  sues  for  mercy  through  the  sinner's  friend. 
"  Determined  by  the  WORD  his  life  to  square, 
He  ponders  o'er  each  sentence  with  due  care  ;  " 
In  the  bright  sea-life,  and  the  life  divine, 
"  It  is  his  aim  all  others  to  outshine  ; " 
And  while  he  mourns  o'er  many  years  misspent, 
Oft  calls  upon  his  shipmates  to  repent. 


CONVERSION  OF  MARY  DESMOND  AND  HENRY 
MOWBRAY. 

BY   DR.    WHITCHUECH. 

But  Mary  Desmond's  dress  was  neatly  plain, 

She  scorned  the  gaudy  trappings  of  the  vain ; 

In  manners,  words,  and  in  her  dress  was  she 

The  very  picture  of  simplicity. 

Yet  Mary  had  been  gay,  too  fond  of  dress, 

And  too  much  flattered  by  the  world's  caress — 

To  tawdry  show  and  company  inclined, 

Time's  fleeting  pleasures  won  upon  her  mind. 

Not  long  her  reason  bowed  to  Folly's  shrine, 

She  heaven- ward  turned,  and  sought  the  life  divine* 

Blest  be  the  hour  that  led  my  wayward  feet 

To  Desmond's  house,  this  Christian  girl  to  meet. 

"  The  Savior's  love  her  heart  with  zeal  inflamed,. 

The  sailor's  case  her  tender est  pity  claimed ;  " 

She  put  me  in  the  way  her  feet  had  trod, 

The  way  of  holiness  that  leads  to  God. 

"  And  from  a  mind  enriched  with  sacred  lore, 

Would  on  my  listening,  ear  instruction  pour. 


97 

And  though  on  shipboard  I  my  breath  resign, 
I  bow  submissive  to  the  will  divine  ; 
May  my  conversion  from  the  paths  of  sin 
Encourage  those  who  would  the  sailor  win. 
But  life  ebbs  fast— I  must  resign  my  breath  ; — 
Farewell,  my  shipmates— be  prepared  for  death. 


EXTKACT  FBOM  THE  SAME. 

INTERMENT  OF    THE  MORTAL    REMAINS   OP    HENRY  MOWBRAY, 
ON   AN    ISLAND    IN   THE    BAY   OF   . 

Sail  had  been  shortened,  and  the  ship  laid  to, 
And  orders  issued  to  the  faithful  crew ; 
They  hoist  the  boat  out,  and  with  care  convey 
Their  shipmate's  relics  safe  within  the  bay. 
No  hearse  was  there  with  sable  nodding  plume, 
No  flattering  epitaph  on  grandeur's  tomb  ; 
For  woe's  vile  mockery  they  no  mourner  hired — 
The  evening  gun  was  at  interment  fired. 
No  priest  with  sacred  vestments  held  the  book, 
That  solemn  office  pious  Dreadnought  took ; 
And,  while  the  service  he  devoutly  read, 
Sad  was  each  heart,  uncovered  every  head. 
Mute  stood  Marant,  as  fast  the  big  tear  ran 
Down  the  dark  face  of  that  experienced  man. 
There  Donald  wept,  and  many  a  comrade  brave 
Their  mingled  sorrows  poured  on  Henry's  grave; 
Whom  all  admired,  now  all  alike  deplore, 
The  youth  sepulchred  on  that  lonely  shore, 


PITY  THE  INEBRIATE. 

SCENE. — Back  Parlor.  Mrs.  8.  having  dressed  and  caressed 
her  lovely  babe,  and  descanted  on  his  beauty,  thus  addressed 
her  husband. 

If  James  L.  would  but  sober  keep, 
A  place  for  him  always  to  sleep, 

I  surely  would  provide ; 
But  he  comes  here  in  such  a  plight, 
Sometimes  at  twelve  o'clock  at  night — 

I  cannot  this  abide. 

And  when  he  visits  us  again, 
Although  it  would  my  feelings  pain, 

I  think  I '11  to  him  say— 
If  he  cannot  from  drink  refrain, 
And  a  more  steady  course  maintain, 

He  'd  better  stay  away. 

Our  friends  such  characters  despise, 
And  despicable  in  their  eyes 

We  truly  must  appear, 
When  we  such  visitors  receive ; 
It  would  my  mind  greatly  relieve, 

If  he  would  not  come  here. 

To  hospitality  inclined, 

'T  is  always  pleasing  to  my  mind, 

Dear  Scotland's  sons  to  see ; 
And  from  my  oft  replenished  stores, 
Impart  the  gifts  kind  Heaven  pours 

So  lavishly  on  me. 

But  the  young  man  metamphorized 
Into  a  brute,  should  be  despised 

By  Scotland's  daughters  fair ; 
I  wish  lie  truly  would  reform, 
And  to  our  household  rules  conform, 

And  of  its  comforts  share. 

JESSY. 

When  first  I  James  L.  knew, 
Most  interesting  to  the  view 
He  truly  did  appear ; 


99 

The  babe  that  you  've  just  washed  and  dressed, 
And  so  affectionately  caressed, 
Is  not  to  you  more  dear, 

Than  he  was  to  his  mother's  breast, 
Him,  she  thus  tenderly  caressed, 

And  little  thought  that  he 
Would  wander  from  his  wealthy  home, 
And  in  a  distant  country  roam, 

A  poor  Inebriate  be. 

That  mother,  in  death's  cold  embrace 
Is  locked,  and  you  should  fill  her  place  ; 

Then  do  not  rashly  send 
The  poor  inebriate  from  your  door, — 
Kindness  may  lead  him  to  give  o'er 

His  errors,  and  amend. 

If  not,  you  have  your  duty  done, 
As  you  would  wish  by  this  your  son, 

Some  humane  person  would, 
If  he  should  wander  from  his  home, 
And  like  this  poor  Inebriate  roam, 

Though,  Heaven  forbid  he  should. 

And  as  to  what  the  poor  boy  spends, 
His  father  would  make  rich  amends 

To  those  who  for  him  care  ; 
For  he  is  one  of  Scotland's  pride, 
Although  from  rectitude  so  wide, 

Wanders  his  son  and  heir. 

When  I  last  visited  that  land, 

He  shook  me  warmly  by  the  hand, 

And  talked  about  his  boy  ; 
I  could  not  that  kind  parent  grieve, 
And  therefore  did  not  undeceive, 

Him,  and  his  peace  destroy. 

Her  heart  of  philanthropic  mould 
Relented,  and  most  warmly  glowed 

With  pity's  genial  beams, 
And  when  again  the  inebriate  came, 
This  sacred,  pure,  exalted  flame, 

Poured  forth  its  gentlest  gleams. 


100 

But  long  he  did  not  need  her  care  ; 
Alcohol  shortly  did  prepare 

For  him  a  watery  tomb  ; 
And  while  she  mourned  his  hapless  lot. 
She  did  rejoice  that  she  had  not 

Expelled  him  from  her  home. 

But  shall  I  the  sad  sequel  tell  ? 
A  child  that  mother  loved  as  well 

As  him  she  then  caressed, 
Has  to  intemperance  inclined 
And  left  his  home  ;   oh,  may  he  find 

A  friend  !  a  place  of  rest ! 

His  parents  Nature's  debt  have  paid, 
And  sheltered  'neath  that  pierceless  shade, 

From  mortal  woes  are  free  ; 
Parents  who  read  these  mournful  lays, 
And  on  your  beauteous  children  gaze, 

You  know  not  what  they  '11  be. 

Then  let  that  poor  Inebriate  son, 
That  homeless,  friendless,  erring  one, 

Your  sympathy  now  share  ; 
To  him  extend  the  friendly  hand, 
And  lead  him  to  that  pitying  band,* 

Who  for  the  inebriate  care. 


TO^THEODOKE,    ON  HIS  WEDDING-DAY. 

As  youth  arrive  at  man's  estate 

To  choose  a  wife,  seems  fixed  by  fate  ; 

For  very  rare  indeed,  we  see, 

To  single  life  a  devotee, 

Who  deems  it  meet  to  live  alone, 

If  he  can  find  his  kindred  bone  ; 

But  kindred  souls  alone  should  meet, — 

'T  is  friendship  makes  the  bondage  sweet. 

*  Total  Abstinence  Washingtonian  Society. 


101  ./AL; 

For  lack  of  this  too  oft  we  see 
Those  joined  in  wedlock,  disagree, 
And  sometimes  wish  the  high  behest, 
Had  severed  them  as  East  from  West. 


As  you  to  wedlock  have  inclined, 

And  found  a  partner  to  your  mind, 

Varied  your  duties  now  will  be, 

So  take  these  gentle  hints  from  me  : 

And  first  to  God  an  altar  raise, 

And  daily  offer  prayer  and  praise  ; 

For  none  his  blessing  need  expect, 

If  they  to  ask  the  boon  neglect, — 

Ne'er  let  the  solar  orb  arise 

And  you  withhold  your  sacrifice, 

Nor  e'er  behold  its  setting  rays 

Without  reverberating  praise. 

The  next,  let  temperance  guard  your  board, 

And  rather  give  the  poor  than  hoard, 

And  thus  a  faithful  steward  be 

Of  that  kind  Heaven  entrusts  to  thee  ! 

Yet,  let  discretion  guard  your  store, 

To  keep  the  bailiff  from  your  door, 

Give  what 's  your  own,  but  nothing  more. 

Next,  fix  this  truth  upon  your  mind : 

You  cannot  use  a  wife  too  kind ; — 

Unless,  unlike  all  else  beside, 

Faults  she  will  have  that  you  may  chide, 

But  ever  let  those  chidings  be 

The  effects  of  stern  necessity ; 

As  if  by  them  you  mean  to  show 

You  love,  as  Christ  his  church  below, 

And  as  you  wish  that  she  would  do 

By  you,  when  she  your  faults  shall  view ; 

Unkind  expressions,  and  neglect, 

Will  wound  the  breast  you  should  protect. 

Be  it  your  effort  to  restrain 

Each  act  that  would  her  feelings  pain, 

And  never  on  that  brow  so  fair 

Bind  one  unnecessary  care, 

And  for  pure  joys  you  need  not  roam, 

For  peace  and  love  will  crown  your  home. 


102 

To  Him  who  is  our  common  friend, 
You,  and  your  bride  I  would  commend  ; 
May  His  blesssed  word  your  footsteps  guide, 
His  sheltering  wings  o'er  you  preside, 
'Till  life's  horizon  from  your  sight 
Recedes,  and  realms  of  fadeless  light 
Breaks  on  the  view,  and  you  arise 
To  peace,  and  joy,  above  the  skies. 


LINES, 

On  reading  a  Communication  in  a  Weekly  Newspaper,  directed  to  a 
new  married  couple. 

MY  DEAR  YOUNG  FRIENDS  : 

Our  periodicals  abound 
"With  a  dull,  tedious,  tiresome  round — 
The  nameless  duties  of  a  wife, 
And  how  she  should  devote  her  life, 
To  please  her  lord,  though  that  should  be, 
As  hard  a  task,  as  to  bind  the  sea ; 
And  though  her  soul  is  pressed  with  grief, 
And  one  sweet  tear  would  give  relief, 
The  tear  repress,  sighs,  too,  restrain, 
Lest  these  should  give  her  monarch  pain ; 
And  clothe  with  smiles  and  brow  serene, 
A  bosom  pressed  with  sorrows  keen. 
And  Miss  H.  M.  takes  up  the  tale, 
Though  plodding  single  down  life's  vale ; 
She  should  have  tried  the  married  life, 
And  showed  the  world  one  faultless  wife ; 
For  Heaven  most  fully  has  made  known, 
Man  should  not  tread  life's  vale  alone. 
Now  I  concur  with  Heaven's  decree, 
Viz  :  that  in  each  house  should  be 
One  to  preside,  and  that 't  is  fit, 
That  each  should  to  his  laws  submit. 
Those  laws  should  founded  be  on  love, 
Such  as  kind  Heaven  would  approve ; 


103 

If  so,  how  very  few  indeed 

Would  from  the  pleasing  bands  be  freed. 

But  men,  as  women,  oft  are  frail, 

And  angry  discords,  too,  prevail, 

And  disputations  fierce  arise, 

'Till  children  heartily  despise 

Both  parents,  oh  !  't  were  better  far 

Not  to  indulge  domestic  war ; 

But  to  each  other's  wishes  bend, 

Nor  for  frivolities  contend, — 

But  be  what  Heaven  designed  they  should, 

Tender,  affectionate  and  good ; 

Co -helpers  in  the  arduous  strife, 

Attendant  on  the  voyage  of  life. 

But  should  fierce  angry  discord  rise, 

To  quell  it,  (here  the  secret  lies,) 

Quickly  comply  with  Heaven's  decree, 

Ye  wives,  when  angry,  silent  be  ; 

And  not  because  your  views  are  wrong, 

But  that  to  God  it  does  belong, 

For  His  Great  Family  to  enact 

Laws,  and  obedience  to  expect. 

Not  sulky  silence,  but  be  kind, 

And  on  your  brow  the  olive  bind ; 

The  sigh  may  rise,  the  tear  may  flow, 

Heaven  ne'er  forbade  these  signs  of  woe. 

That  man  must  be  worse  than  a  brute, 

Who  would  ill-treat  a  meek,  kind  mute ; 

But  should  such  prodigies  be  found, 

Do  not  contend,  but  yield  the  ground. 

When  angry  neighbors  disagree, 

If  one  of  them  would  silent  be, 

Until  the  other's  anger  cool, 

'T  were  better  than  to  fight  for  rule. 

Sometimes  two  statesmen  disagree, 

One  says,  "  I  '11  not  insulted  be ;  " 

The  other  says,  "neither  will  I. 

Let  us  a  single  combat  try, 

And  by  the  force  of  art  and  might, 

Decide  who  's  wrong,  and  who  is  right." 

And  armies  on  the  tented  field 

Combat  until  the  weaker  yield  ; 

Not  the  most  faulty,  for  we  find, 

Too  often,  wrong  and  strength  combined. 


104 

But  from  my  subject  I  have  strayed  ; 
Kind  Heaven  much,  mercy  has  displayed 
In  naming  which  should  silent  be, 
When  wives  and  husbands  disagree. 
To  His  blest  word  I  you  may  commend, 

Adieu. Your  faithful,  scribbling  friend, 

D.  M.  B. 


SELECTED. 

At  a  recent  lecture,  delivered  by  Mr.  Catlin,  on  the  man 
ners  and  customs  of  the  Indians,  the  following  circumstance 
was  related.  A  portrait  of  a  very  beautiful  Indian  girl  had 
been  painted  by  Mr.  C.,  and  a  copy  of  it  solicited  for  the 
purpose  of  hanging  it  up  in  the  fort  where  he  had  been 
staying.  Soon  after  the  girl  died.  After  her  decease,  her 
father  went  to  the  fort  to  solicit  the  picture  of  his  daughter ; 
he  entreated  earnestly  for  it,  and  said  he  had  brought  with 
him  ten  horses,  which  were  at  the  gate, — his  lodge,  with 
every  thing  of  value  in  it,  and  the  whole  he  offered  to  give 
for  the  picture.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  add  that  he  was 
put  in  possession  of  it.  The  following  has  been  suggested 
by  the  circumstance : 

Ay  !  take  it — to  thine  Indian  home, 

The  priceless  treasure  bear ; 
And  may  its  gentle  aspect  still 

The  storms  of  sorrow  there. 
Stern  chief !  thy  child  is  rent  away, 

"We  cannot  give  thee  back 
The  light  that  made  thy  path  so  fair 

Along  life's  changing  track. 

Yet  take  the  semblance  picture  true, 

By  skill  unerring  traced ; 
Take  all  that 's  left  thee  of  thy  joy, 

And  be  the  relic  placed 


105 

Where  oft  thine  eye  shall  calmly  rest, 

When  dimmed  with  age  forlorn, 
When  earthly  lights  are  fading  fast, 

And  thou  canst  only  mourn. 

'T  will  lead  thee  back  to  brighter  days, 

When  she  was  with  thee  yet, 
Like  some  mild  star  she  was  to  thee, 

And  though  that  star  has  set, 
Its  fading  light  will  linger  still, 

To  make  the  vision  blest 
That  greets  the  past- exploring  eye, 

And  gives  the  spirit  rest. 

Go  to  thy  forest  home,  O  chief  ! 

Bear  this  sweet  gift  away, 
Sad  is  thine  heart  for  thy  lost  one, 

Thine  anguish  who  shall  stay  ? 
And  take  thy  proffered  treasures  back, 

The  stranger  heeds  them  not ; 
All  unmolested  be  thy  path 

To  thine  own  native  spot. 

And  when  within  the  home  she  loved, 

Thou  seest  the  image  fair, 
Of  her  whose  voice  so  late  was  heard 

In  joyous  accents  there, 
O  !  think  thee  of  that  world  unseen, 

Where  dwell  the  lost— the  dead— 
And  may  sweet  hopes  upon  thee  dawn, 

Though  earthly  joy  has  fled  ! 

M.  A.  C. 


106 

THE  GRAVE. 

BY     MONTGOMERY. 

There  is  a  calm  for  those  who  weepr 
A  rest  for  weary  pilgrims  found  ; 
They  softly  lie,  and  sweetly  sleep 
Low  in  the  ground. 

The  storm  that  rends  the  wintry  sky,. 
No  more  disturbs  their  deep  repose 
Than  summer  evening's  latest  sigh 
That  shuts  the  rose. 

I  long  to  lay  this  weary  head  . 
And  aching  heart  beneath  the  soil, 
To  slumber  in  that  dreamless  bed 
From  all  my  toil. 

For  misery  stole  me  at  my  birth, 
And  cast  me  helpless  on  the  wild ! 
I  perish  !     Oh,  thou  mother  earth ! 
Take  home  thy  child. 

On  thy  dear  lap,  these  limbs  reclined, 
Shall  gently  moulder  into  thee, 
Nor  leave  the  smallest  trace  behind 
Resembling  me. 

Hark !  a  strange  voice  salutes  mine  ear  ! 
My  pulse,  my  brain  runs  wild  !     I  rave  I 
Ah  1  who  art  thou,  whose  voice  I  hear  ? 
I  am  the  grave. 

The  grave  that  never  spake  before, 
Hath  found  at  length  a  tongue  to  chide  j 
Ah  !  listen,  I  will  speak  no  more, 
Be  silent  pride. 

Art  thou  a  wretch  of  hope  forlorn, 
The  victim  of  consuming  care  ? 
Is  thy  distracted  conscience  torn 
By  fell  despair  ? 


107 

Do  foul  misdeeds  of  former  times. 
Sting  with  remorse  thy  guilty  breast  ? 
And  ghosts  of  unforbidden  crimes 
Murder  thy  rest  ? 

I  charge  thee  live,  repent  and  pray 
In  dust,  thy  sinfulness  deplore  ; 
There  yet  is  mercy,  go  thy  way 
And  sin  no  more. 

Art  thou  a  mourner  ?  hast  thou  seen 
The  joys  of  innocent  delights, 
Endearing  days,  forever  flown, 

And  tranquil  nights  ? 

Ah !  live,  and  deeply  cherish  still 
The  sweet  remembrance  of  the  past, 
Rely  on  Heaven's  unchanging  will 
For  peace  at  last. 

Art  thou  a  wanderer  ?  hast  thou  seen 
O'erwhelming  tempests  drown  thy  bark  ? 
A  ship-wrecked  traveller,  hast  thou  been 
Misfortune's  mark  ? 

Though  long  of  winds  and  waves  the  sport, 
Condemned  in  wretchedness  to  roam  ; 
Live  !  thou  shalt  reach  a  sheltering  port, 
A  quiet  home. 

Whate'er  thy  lot,  whoe'er  thou  be, 
Confess  thy  folly ;  kiss  the  rod, 
And  in  thy  chastening  sorrows  see 
The  hand  of  God. 

A  bruised  reed  he  will  not  break, 
Afflictions  all  his  children  feel, 
He  wounds  them  for  his  mercy's  sake, 
He  wounds  to  heal. 

Now,  traveller  in  this  vale  of  tears 
To  realms  of  everlasting  light, 
Through  time's  dark  wilderness  of  fears, 
Pursue  thy  flight. 


108 

The  sun  a  semblance  is  of  fire — 
A  shining  meteor  in  the  sky ; 
Thy  soul,  immortal  as  its  sire, 
Shall  never  die. 


WHAT  IS  MAN  ? 

SELECTED. 

Ah  !  what  is  man  ?  extremes  how  wide 
In  his  mysterious  nature  joined ! 
The  flesh  to  worms  and  dust  allied, 
The  soul  immortal  and  divine. 
Divine  at  first,  a  holy  flame 
Kindled  by  Heaven's  inspiring  breath, 
Till  sin  with  power  prevailing  came ; 
Then  followed  darkness,  shame  and  death. 
But  God's  own  son,  amazing  grace, 
Assumed  our  nature  as  his  own, 
Obeyed,  and  suffered  in  our  place, 
Then  took  it  with  him  to  his  throne. 
Now,  what  is  man,  when  grace  reveals 
The  virtue  of  a  Savior's  blood  ? 
Again  a  life  divine  he  feels, 
Despises  earth,  and  walks  with  God. 
And  what,  in  yonder  realms  above, 
Is  ransomed  man  ordained  to  be  ? 
With  honor,  holiness  and  love, 
No  seraph  more  adorned  than  he. 
Nearest  the  throne,  and  first  in  song, 
Man  shall  his  hallelujahs  raise, 
While  wondering  angels  round  him  throng, 
And  swell  the  chorus  of  his  praise. 


109 

TO  MISS  W.  A.  B. 
"  Happy  is  that  people  whose  God  is  the  Lord." 

Why  am  I  undecided  ?  is  the  prize 

Exhibited  to  view  of  trifling  worth  ? 

And  are  celestial  glories,  to  my  eyes, 

Lost  midst  the  busy  din  of  noisy  mirth  ? 

Time  hurries  on  with  unremitting  pace, 

Hurrying  all  ages  down  its  rapid  stream  ; 

Youth  to  its  sway  must  yield  each  blooming  grace, 

And  own  the  past  is  but  a  fleeting  dream. 

Now  is  the  time  salvation  to  secure, 

No  longer  loiter,  "Wisdom  gently  cries  ; 

But  Folly  whispers,  your  salvation 's  sure. 

Lulled  by  the  syren,  I  forbear  to  rise, 

And  though  her  soft,  alluring,  treacherous  voice 

Known  fully  is,  so  magic  is  the  spell, 

Ephemeral  joys  so  much  my  mind  engross, 

Still,  I  consent  within  her  tent  to  dwell. 

Let  me  consider  well  my  present  state, 

Exposed  each  hour  to  mortal  destiny, 

Escape  the  syren  ere  it  be  too  late, 

Nor  any  longer  undecided  be. 


FOR  AN  ALBUM. 

Sacred  to  friendship  may  this  volume  be, 

And  fraught  each  page  with  wisdom's  purest  lore, 
Rich  intellectual  pleasure  yield  to  thee, 

And  on  thy  youthful  mind  instruction  pour. 
Sheltered  most  sweetly  from  surrounding  ills, 

Thy  buoyant  bark  floats  on  Time's  restless  sea, 
And  hope,  sweet  hope  thy  blithesome  bosom  fills, 

Nor  dreads  the  tempest  that  may  shortly  be. 


110 

I  would  that  darksome  clouds  should  never  rise, 

But  gentlest  breezes  thy  whole  voyage  attend, 
But  earth  affords  not  such  propitious  skies, 

And  thou  wilt  need  a  kind  and  faithful  friend. 
That  friend  I  would  be,  blend  my  fate  with  thine, 

And  with  thee  journey  till  life's  voyage  shall  end, 
Rich  wreaths  of  gladness  on  thy  brow  entwine, 

Till  Time's  last  wave  earth's  firmest  bands  shall  rend. 


FOR  AN  ALBUM. 

"  I  thirst  not  for  the  meed  of  fame  " 
Around  my  brow  "  its  wreaths  to  'twine, 

Rather  I  would  inscribe  my  name  " 
"With  those  accounted  friends  of  thine, 

And  think  that  in  some  future  year, 
Thine  eyes  may  wander  o'er  these  lines, 

And  make  the  present  scenes  appear 
To  memory's  now  furnished  mines. 

"  But  where,  oh  !   where  are  future  years  ? 

Down  their  dark  vista  who  can  spy  ?  " 
Enshrined  alike  their  hopes  and  fears, 

Their  griefs  and  joys  from  mortal  eye. 

But  there  's  a  brighter  world  above, 
Thither  may  we  our  footsteps  bend, 

And,  'round  the  throne  of  matchless  love, 
Together  endless  ages  spend. 


Ill 


TO  MISS  E.  B. 

Embarked  on  life's  momentous,  mighty  sea, 

Life,  and  immortal  joys  to  lose,  or  gain, 

Important,  and  once  fixed  sure  destiny, 

Zenith  of  joy ;  if  lost  the  depth  of  pain, 

Around  my  pathway  Folly's  airy  train, 

Blandishments  vain  as  meteors  airy  glide, 

Exhibit  to  attract  ;  and  then  enchain, 

And  oft  their  influence  o'er  my  steps  preside. 

Yet,  sacred  Wisdom's  voice  I  do  revere  ; 

Lit  her  rich  lamp  by  Heaven's  own  matchless  ray, 

Rich  intellectual  joys  her  votaries  cheer, 

Known  only  to  the  breast  that  owns  her  sway. 

Extended  is  her  hand,  my  bark  to  aid 

Safely  across  life's  all-important  sea, 

Led  by  her  chart,  its  every  rule  obeyed, 

Each  quicksand  shunned,  and  breasted  death's  dark  wave, 

I,  through  rich  grace,  shall  reach  the  port  of  rest, 

And  share  immortal  joys  among  the  blest. 


FOR  AN  ALBUM. 

Among  the  friendly  names, 

That  clustering  appear, 
In  this  fair  volume  to  address 

A  friend  they  prize  most  dear, 

"With  warmest  wishes  that  kind  Heaven 
Each  varied  scene  may  bless, 

The  name  of  A — a  on  this  page 
Her  fingers  shall  impress. 

Deeper  inscriptions  memory  bears 

Upon  her  tablet,  true, 
"Where  kind  attention's  gentle  words 

Have  shed  their  pleasing  hue ; 


112 

And  shall  in  future  years  remain, 
Should  these  my  portion  be, 

While  memory  shall  her  seat  retain, 
I  shall  remember  thee. 


TO  MRS.  S.  C. 

"  In  wisdom  Thou  hast  made  them  ail."— Psalmist. 

Must  these  sweet  variegated  flowers 
Resign  their  most  attractive  bloom  ? 
Such  lovely  tints,  and  fragrant  powers, 
Sink  in  oblivion's  wasting  tomb  ? 
Often  upon  their  charms  I  've  gazed, 
Pleased  with  their  varied  forms  and  hues 
How  much  beneficence  displayed  ! 
I  said,  and  goodness  how  profuse  ! 
A  poetess  has  said,  "  our  King 
Could  make  an  earth  resembling  ours, 
Replenished  with  each  useful  thing, 
And  not  adorn  it  with  sweet  flowers." 
What  power  unlimited  can  do 
Finite  capacities  ne'er  scanned ; 
Oh  !  may  the  thought  our  wills  subdue, 
Restrain  our  wanderings,  teach  each  plan 
Devised  by  Heaven  most  fit  for  man. 


TO  MISS  M.  J.  S. 

'Midst  all  the  gay  phantoms  that  flutter  around, 
And  offer  to  lead  you  where  true  joys  abound, 
Religion,  fair  hand-maid  of  wisdom  divine, 
Gives  also  inducements  to  visit  her  shrine. 
Attend  at  my  altar  and  render  your  vow, 
Rich,  unfading  laurels  I  '11  bind  on  your  brow, 


113 

Even  such  as  will  flourish,  unknown  to  decay, 
Though  time's  wasting  hand  sweeps  earth's  fabric  away, 
Just  as  the  sun's  brilliant  meridian  light 
Asserts  its  bright  triumphs  o'er  chaotic  night, 
Ne'er  eclipsed  in  its  splendor  by  aught  else  we  find, 
Even  such  are  my  glories  to  the  youthful  mind. 
Sometimes  we  behold,  with  a  heart-rending  sigh, 
Cut  down  as  the  flowers,  our  youthful  ones  die  ; 
Oft  wish  the  survivors  would  learn  from  their  doom, 
Unsheltered 's  their  charms  from  a  like  early  tomb ; 
Let  wisdom's  fair  hand-maid  conduct  to  her  shrine, 
Leave  earthly  enjoyments  for  pleasures  divine, 
And  when  life's  horizon  recedes  from  the  sight, 
Religion  will  shed  its  lustre  more  bright, 
And  guide  you  securely  through  death's  dreary  shade, 
When  earthly  enjoyments  as  phantoms  all  fade. 


TO  MISS  M.  K. 

ON  THE  ANNIVERSARY   OF   HER  BIRTH-DAT, 

Eighteen  years  have  fled  away 

Since  thine  eyes  beheld  the  day ; 

Since,  a  candidate  for  heaven, 

Light  to  thee  and  life  was  given. 

Eighteen  years  !  how  quickly  past, 

"  Like  a  leaf  before  the  blast," 

Like  a  meteor's  transient  gleam, 

Like  a  bubble  on  the  stream  ; 

And  future  years  as  fleet  as  they 

Will  to  oblivion's  cells  convey 

The  joys  and  sorrows,  hopes  and  fears, 

That  wait  upon  our  lengthened  years. 

But  future  years  may  not  be  thine, 

Death  may  even  now  thy  cypress  'twine, 

And  ere  another  year  has  fled, 

Thou  mayst  be  numbered  with  the  dead* 

When  pensive  feelings  fill  my  mind, 

My  rhymes  are  of  a  pensive  kind ; 


114 

Yet,  I  rejoice  the  day  to  see, 
That  gave  so  kind  a  friend  to  me, 
And  celebrate,  with  Christian  mirth, 
The  anniversary  of  your  birth. 
I  wish  you  many  happy  years, 
Unknown  to  sorrow,  care,  and  fears, 
But  would  you  truly  happy  be, 
Improve  the  talents 'given  thee, 
And  never  be  ashamed  to  own 
That  you  the  Savior  have  put  on, 
But  to  the  world  a  patjtern  give 
How  Christians  walk,  and  how  they  live, 
And,  like  a  land-mark  in  the  road, 
Point  sinners  to  the  Lamb  of  God. 
Should  death  arrest  you  in  life's  bloom, 
And  lay  you  in  an  early  tomb, 
Or,  should  you  live  old  age  to  see, 
In  life,  as  death,  you  blest  will  be, 
And  praise  that  power  who  being  gave, 
And  Him  who  did  that  being  save. 


TO  MISS  A.  W.  S. 
"  Wisdom  is  the  principal  thing."— Solomon. 

At  Wisdom's  shrine  I  would  a  tribute  pay, 
Nothing  that 's  human  can  with  her  compare ; 

No  powers  of  rhyme  can  half  her  worth  portray, 
Withered  before  her  earth's  vain  glories  are. 

Attendant  at  her  court,  and  near  her  gate, 
Lured  by  those  charms  that  never  can  decrease  ; 

Knowledge  sublime,  and  truth  resplendent  wait, 
Ensuring  to  her  votaries  lasting  peace. 

Resplendent  beam !  of  origin  divine  ! 

Strengthen  my  footsteps  in  thy  paths  to  tread, 
Conduct  me  to  thy  radiancy  benign, 

O'er  all  my  steps  thy  brilliant  glories  shed. 


115 

Uninfluenced  by  Folly's  airy  train, 

Like  Him  who  Egypt's  sceptre  did  refuse, 

Learn  me  all  earthly  glories  to  disdain, 

And  thee,  fair  wisdom,  for  my  portion  choose. 

Replenishing  my  torch  from  thy  rich  lamp, 
Upward  and  onward  shall  my  motto  be, 

Till  I  receive  the  heaven-imparted  stamp, 
And  rise  to  life  and  immortality. 


TO  MISS  A.  C.  T. 

Assured  that  Wisdom's  ways  afford  substantial  peace, 
Gilding  the  breast  it  sways,  with  joys  that  ne'er  decrease, 
Ne'er  from  her  precepts  swerve,  or  blush  her  cause  to  own, 
Even  though,  like  one  of  yore,  you  seem  to  stand  alone  ; 
Soon  will  youth's  buoyancy  have  fled,  just  like  a  tale  that 's 

Soon  pleasure  close  its  silken  wings,  and  them  no  more  un 
fold; 

Chased  by  time's  rapid  current,  before  whom  all  must  bend, 
Old  age  with  swift  advances  proclaims  youth's  glories  end. 
Let  Folly's  airy  votaries  invite  to  join  her  train, 
Since  you  have  known  superior  joys,  their  blandishments 

are  vain, 
Their  boasted  pleasures  quick  recede,  just  like  a  fleeting 

dream, 
Or  meteors  darting  through  the  air,  or  bubbles  on  the 

stream ; 

Nothing  remains  of  all  their  pride  to  satiate  the  desire, 
When  sickness  shakes  the  cottage  walls,  and  bids  the  guest 

retire ; 

Then  pure  celestial  wisdom  shines  with  majesty  serene, 
And  o'er  her  votaries    lustre  sheds,  to  cheer  the  gloomy 

scene. 

Yea  !  over  all  ephemerial  joys  her  glories  she  displays, 
Like  the  meridian  solar  orb,  outshining  glow-worm  rays. 


116 

Oh  !  may  fair  wisdom's  sacred  source  your  youthful  foot 
steps  guide, 

Replenish  you  with  needful  grace,  and  o'  er  each  path  pre 
side; 

And  when  life's  closing  scenes  draw  near,  rich  consolation 
send, 

And  crown  a  life  with  mercies  fraught  with  a  triumphant 
end. 


TO  MISS  J.  G.  S. 

Just  as  the  solar  orb  its  powers  display, 

And  o'er  chaotic  darkness  pours  the  day, 

Ne'er  deviating  from  the  destined  sphere, 

Established  as  the  bounds  of  its  career, — 

Thus  wisdom  shines  with  undiminished  light, 

Gilding  the  breast  that  owns  the  radiance  bright, 

Removing  error  from  the  darkened  mind, 

And  substituting  joys  of  purest  kind. 

Youth,  it  adorns  with  pure,  exhaustless  charms, 

Secures  them  from  innumerable  harms  ; 

Confers  such  honors  as  shall  ne'er  decay, 

O'er  which  old  Time,  and  Death  can  hold  no  sway ; 

Upholds  through  each  meandering,  giddy  maze, 

Learns  meek  submission  through  succeeding  days. 

Let  this  pure  flame  your  youthful  heart  inspire, 

As  opening  flowers  receive  the  solar  fire  ; 

Receive  this  sacred  treasure  to  your  breast, 

And  let  it  there  abide  a  constant  guest ; 

And  when  life's  closing  scenes  draw  near, 

When  solar  systems  disappear, 

When  flowers  no  more  their  hues  display, 

When  earth's  enjoyments  fade  away, 

This  sacred  flame  will  light  the  gloom, 

And  point  to  joys  beyond  the  tomb. 


117 


TO  MISS  L.  H. 

Let  folly's  gay,  fantastic,  thoughtless  train 
Unfurl  her  banners  and  her  charms  portray ; 
Creating  in  the  bosom  of  the  vain, 
Yearnings  for  joys,  her  syren  arts  display  ; 
Her  boasted  influence  cannot  lure  the  breast, 
On  which  fair  wisdom  sheds  her  radiant  gleams ; 
Where  sacred  intellectual  pleasures  rest, 
Enriched  by  Heaven's  own  pure  celestial  streams. 


TO  MISS  J.  T. 

"  As  for  man,  his  days  are  as  grass,  as  a  flower  of  the  field  10  he  flourish- 
eth.»— David. 

Justly  is  life  compared  to  flowers  of  grass, 
O'er  which  the  mower's  scythe  is  soon  to  pass. 
At  morn  they  flourish,  of  the  field  the  pride, 
Noon  shows  them  cast  promiscuously  aside, 
No  more  to  charm  the  eye,  the  sense  regale  ; 
Ah  !  such  is  life  !  thus  transient,  and  thus  frail ! 
Time  unfurls  his  banner,  waves  his  scythe  and  glass, 
And  will  not  let  our  youthful  beauties  pass  ; 
Yield  to  his  sway  they  must,  although  th«y  «e 
Loth  to  resign  their  bloom,  and  wrinkles  wear. 
Oft,  Death  out-wings  Time's  rapid,  sure  arrest, 
And  aims,  unerring,  at  the  youthful  breast, 
Removes  the  blooming  to  an  early  tomb, 
And  spares  the  grandsire  to  lament  their  doom  ! 
Ah  !  such  is  life  !  thus  subject  to  decay, 
Like  flowers  of  grass  whole  ages  pass  away  ! 

A  brighter  scene  awaits  the  truly  wise, 
Mansions  of  peace,  and  joy,  above  the  skies, 
Where  Time,  with  wasting  banners,  cannot  come, 
But  youth  shall  flourish  with  immortal  bloom ; 


118 

(Unlike  the  flowers  that  quickly  fade  away,) 
Death,  the  last  foe,  also  resigns  his  sway. 
Nerveless  his  arm,  useless  his  darts  and  bow, 
Jesus  has  laid  the  insatiate  archer  low, 
And  brought  to  pass  the  foretold  destiny, 
Death,  and  the  grave,  are  lost  in  victory  ; 
Why  should  we  fear  the  mouldering  tomb, 
If  Death's  destroyer  cheers  the  gloom, 
And  leads  from  such  a  world  as  this, 
To  mansions  of  unfading  bliss  ? 
To  Him  be  endless  glory  given, 
By  all  on  earth,  and  all  in  Heaven. 


TO  MISS.  E.  R.  S 

"  Come  now,  and  let  ua  reason  together." 

Ephemeral  joys  their  charms  present,  and  thus  allure  the 

youthful  mind, 
Lovely  and  rich,  the  powers  we  boast,  come, — and  with  us 

true  pleasure  find. 
In  these  enjoyments  take  delight,  for  nothing  with  them 

can  compare, 
Zealously  in  our  footsteps  run,  and  to  the  aged  leave  dull 

care  ; 
Around  your  temples  Folly's  hand  rich  flowery  chaplets 

shall  entwine, 
Behold  yon  laughing,  jocund  train,  and  with  them  in  their 

festives  join. 
"Escape  the  syren,"  Wisdom  cries,  these  pleasures  only 

last  a  day ; 
'Tis  mine  to  yield  you  solid  peace  when  these  enjoyments 

fade  away ; 
Happy  the  youth  who  tread  my  courts,  assembling  daily  at 

my  gate, 
Rich,  fadeless,  laurels  I  award  to  those  who  at  my  temple 

wait ; 

A  rich  repast  I  have  prepared,  of  intellectual  joys  refined, 
Come,  banquet  freely  on  my  sweets,  and  satiate  your  im 
mortal  mind. 


119 

Dimas  turned  all  he  touched  to  gold,  (so  say  the  fabled 
tales  of  yore,) 

Ere  long  he  found  what  most  he  wished,  he  most  had  rea 
son  to  deplore ; 

Leave  sordid  joys  to  sordid  minds,  and  vain  amusements  to 
the  vain ; 

Soon,  Dimas-like,  they  each  will  find  their  wishes  realized 
their  bane. 

Come,  quickly,  to  my  unfurled  banner,  ere  youth's  buoy 
ancy  has  fled, 

Or  Time  throws  his  mantle  o'er  you,  and  with  silverings 
decks  your  head, 

Uninfluenced  by  my  maxims,  you  will  bow  to  Folly's  shrine, 

Lured  by  her  deceitful  pleasures,  you  will  with  her  votaries 
join  ; 

Listen  to  my  frequent  callings,  youthful  wanderers  through 
life's  maze, 

And  my  paths  will  yield  you  solace  when  your  youthful 
bloom  decays, 

'Hound  you  shed  celestial  comforts  when  you  mostly  need 
their  aid, 

Cheer  Death's  dreary,  untried  valley,  light  its  dark  and  dis 
mal  shade, 

Wide  unfurl  the  pearly  portals  !  you  receive  to  perfect  bliss, 

Who  would  choose  ephemeral  pleasures,  and  refuse  a  lot 
like  this  ? 


TO  MISS  M.  J.  S. 

THE     REMONSTRANCE. 

Child  of  my  loved,  now  disembodied  friend, 
With  pain  I  see  your  steps  toward  Folly  bend, 
I  knew,  indeed,  around  life's  path  would  rise 
Folly's  vain  train,  and  claim  you  as  their  prize ; 
And  injudicious  friends  I  feared  would  aid 
The  effort  by  that  wily  siren  made, 
And  yet,  I  fondly  hoped  to  see  your  mind 
To  Wisdom's  far  superior  joys  inclined, 


120 

And  in  our  frequent  interviews,  would  try 

To  fix  your  mind  on  immortality, 

For  this  employed  the  grass  that  clothes  the  field, 

And  lovely  flowers  that  sweetest  odors  yield  ; 

The  star-bestudded  sky,  the  lunar  rays, 

The  shade  of  twilight,  and  the  solar  blaze, 

The  rill,  the  stream,  the  zephyr,  and  the  breeze 

That  fans  the  opening  flower,  or  rustles  through  the 

trees, 

The  foaming  wave  washing  the  ocean  strand, 
Erasing  lines  inscribed  upon  the  sand, 
Called  to  my  aid  the  ghost  of  murdered  time, 
And  the  last  hours  of  one  in  youthful  prime ; 
By  satire  showed  how  vain  the  priestly  aid, 
Should  God  enforce  the  laws  his  wisdom  made  ; 
Oft  pointed  to  the  Oracles  divine, 
Where  boundless  grace  and  richest  mercy  shine  ! 
Descanted  on  the  Christian's  happy  home, 
On  immortality  beyond  the  tomb, 
And  thornless  pleasures  ever- during  bloom  ; 
Contrasted  those  bright  realms  of  fadeless  bliss, 
With  an  unsatisfying  world  like  this, 
Doomed  to  recede,  just  like  a  fleeting  dream, 
Or  bark  engulfed,  or  meteor's  transient  gleam. 
But  has  the  book  of  nature,  and  of  grace, 
Failed  to  persuade  you  wisdom  to  embrace  ? 
And  must  your  scribbling  friend  her  hopes  resign, 
And  view  gay  Folly  unmolested  'twine 
Her  perishable  wreaths  around  your  brow, 
While  with  her  votaries  at  her  shrine  you  bow, 
And  pace  with  footsteps  fleet  the  treacherous  road 
That  leads  from  Heaven,  from  happiness,  and  God  ? 

Life's  term  expired,  to  die  without  a  ray 
Of  hope,  (well  grounded,)  to  illume  the  way, 
That  untried  way,  of  all  our  race  the  doom, 
The  cheerless  pathway  to  the  silent  tomb  ; 
Or  rather,  once  more  urge  you  to  peruse 
The  inspired  volume,  and  salvation  choose  ; 
That  heavenly  peace,  with  gentle,  balmy  wing, 
May  to  your  breast  its  richest  comforts  bring  ; 
And  while  with  hasty  steps  time  presses  on, 
And  folly's  thoughtless,  careless  ones  are  borne 


121 

Down  dark  oblivion's  fathomless  abyss  ! 
This  rapid  car  may  you  convey 
To  realms  of  ever-during  day, 
To  immortality,  and  ceaseless  bliss. 
Your  sincere  friend, 

And  faithful  monitor, 

D.  M.  B. 


THE  PILGRIMAGE. 

TO  THE  SAME. 

Recent  intelligence  has  reached  mine  ear, 
And  filled  my  breast  with  pure  exalted  joy, 
Such  as  the  bright  celestial  beings  cheer, 
And  their  glad  voices,  and  their  harps  employ ; 
One  lured  by  treacherous  folly  to  her  tent, 
Displayed  her  banners,  and  her  garlands  wore, 
Has  broke  her  magic  spell,  most  fully  bent, 
Wisdom's  pure,  sacred  temple  to  explore. 

She  with  the  triners,  leaves  her  gay  attire, 
And  perishable  wreaths,  that  have  entwined 
Her  brow,  convinced  no  earth-born  vain  desire, 
Can  fully  satiate  an  immortal  mind ; 
She  takes  a  Pilgrim  staff,  and  sandals  new 
She  binds  upon  her  tender,  willing  feet, 
Determined  no  rude  foe  shall  her  subdue  ; 
Not  even  death,  should  she  the  tyrant  meet. 

She  journies  with  a  firm  intrepid  step, 

But  soon  perplexing  roads  obstruct  her  way, 

Guides  bearing  torches,  lit  (as  they  affirm) 

By  Heaven's,  own  matchless  lamp,  truth  to  display 

She  stops  irresolute ;— at  length  exclaims  : 

Do  all  these  roads  lead  to  one  temple  fair  ? 

Why  then  such  zeal  for  different  forms,  and  aims, 

If  all  at  last  meet  at  one  banquet  there  ? 

9 


122 

But  ah  !  too  frequently  these  guides  contend!, 
In  fierce,  unscriptural,  polemic  strife,* 
Is  there  no  guide  my  footsteps  to  attend, 
Through  wisdom's  portals  to  eternal  life  ? 
But  if  they  light  their  torches  at  one  lamp, 
Having  that  lamp,  do  I  their  gleamings  need  > 
As  theirs  appear  to  me  of  doubtful  stamp, 
I  '11  light  my  own  and  on  my  way  proceed. 

Most  wise  decision  !  here  too  many  err, 
And  now  fair  wisdom's  portals  wide  unfold  J 
She  enters,  and  receives  a  faultless  chart 
Of  far  more  worth  than  mines  of  choicest  gold. 
And  as  she  grasps  it,  hear  her  thus  exclaim, — 
This  gift  from  wisdom  infinite  is  mine, 
These  precepts  to  obey  shall  be  my  aim  ; 
They  're  stamped  with  truth  and  sealed  with  blood 
divine. 

Led  by  this  priceless  chart,  she  soon  repairs 

fWhere  Christian  Pilgrims  their  glad  anthems  raise ; 

She  enters,  they  discern  the  staff  she  bears, 

And  each  glad  Pilgrim  offers  silent  praise ; 

Jesus  confessed  as  God's  Exalted  Son, 

All  to  the  water- side  with  speed  repair, 

To  see  this  Pilgrim  put  the  Savior  on, 

And  take  His  NAME,  which  she  henceforth  shall  wear. 

Oh,  happy  Pilgrim  !  from  thy  sins  released, 
And  ranked  with  those  who  bear  this  hallowed  name; 
May'st  thou  in  grace  and  knowledge  still  increase, 
And  by  thy  words  and  actions  put  to  shame, 

*  While  it  is  to  be  regretted,  it  is  nevertheless  a  fact,  that  on  this  basis 
the  infidel  erects  his  standard  and  unfurls  his  banners,  and  hence,  the 
sincere  inquirer  after  truth,  becomes  perplexed  ;  but  as  these  all  profess 
to  take  their  creed  from  the  Bible,  it  is  best  to  go  to  this  fountain— for 
there  is  one  perfect  system  taught  therein,  and  should  be  sought  for  as  for 
hidden  treasure. 

f  In  St.  John,  N.  B.,  there  are  a  company  calling  themselves  Disciples 
of  Jesus  Christ.  They  profess  to  take  the  New  Testament  for  their  only 
guide,  without  creed  or  comment ;  happy  will  it  be  for  them,  if  they  con 
form  to  the  profession  thus  made.  It  was  in  this  place,  and  before  this 
congregation,  that  this  young  lady  confessed  that  she  believed  that 
Jesus  was  the  Son  of  God,  and  that,  being  buried  in  the  likeness  of 
his  death,  she  should  receive  the  remission  of  sins  that  were  past 
Search  to  see  if  she  was  right. 


123 

All  who  in  folly's  tent  do  still  remain  ; 
And  such  as  garbed  with  philosophic  pride, 
Reject  the  Savior,  and  his  laws  disdain, 
And  those  who  prize  them,  scornfully  deride. 

Now,  Christian  Pilgrim,  arm  thee  for  the  field, 
Lest,  peradventure,  thou  be  called  to  fight ; 
Learn  thou,  the  spirit's  mighty  sword  to  wield, 
By  which  thou  may'st  whole  armies  put  to  flight. 
Though  inefficient  I  the  war  still  wage, 
And  as  I  feel  my  mental  powers  decay, 
To  hear  that  youthful  votaries  engage 
In  the  same  warfare,  cheers  my  Pilgrim  way. 

Dear  Christian  Pilgrim  !  we  perhaps  may  meet 
On  this  side  Jordan,  but  its  surges  o'er, 
If  we  are  faithful,  certainly  shall  greet 
Each  other  on  fair  Canaan's  happy  shore. 
Hallelujah  to  the  Lamb  who  has  purchased  our  pardon, 
We  will  praise  Him  when  passed  the  dark  swellings  of 
Jordan. 


LINES 

RECITED   AT  THE   ANNUAL   EXHIBITION    OP    THE    BLIND,    YOBJl 
CITY,    ENG.,    MAY    16,    1843. 

They  tell  us  of  the  starry  train 

That  sparkle  on  yon  sky  of  blue, 
When  gently  o'er  yon  verdant  plain, 

The  evening  sheds  its  radiant  hue. 

And  of  the  glorious  orb  of  day, 
That  'lumes  the  spacious  earth  we  tread, 

Alas  !  in  vain  its  golden  ray 
Upon  our  sightless  eyes  is  shed. 

They  tell  us  of  the  landscape  fair, 

The  gushing  fount,  the  pleasant  shade, 

Of  spring's  young  flowers  that  blossom  there, 
In  nature's  lovely  garb  arrayed. 


124 

The  smile  that  decks  the  human  face, 
The  brilliant  eye,  the  joyous  brow, 

Are  beauties  WE  may  never  trace  ! 
A  rayless  midnight  shrouds  us  now. 

But  why,  oh  why,  the  falling  tear, 
Why  heave  the  sad,  unbidden  sigh  ? 

The  lamp  of  knowledge,  bright  and  fair, 
Pours  lustre  on  our  mental  eye. 

And  oh  !  Religion's  heavenly  ray 
Our  bosoms  light  with  sacred  love, 

And  bids  us  look  from  earth,  away 
To  an  eternal  world  above. 

To  us  our  Father  hath  denied 
The  blessing  he  on  you  bestows, 

Yet,  sweetly  now  our  moments  glide, 
He  gives  us  friends  to  soothe  our  woes. 

And  though  we  never  can  express 
The  gratitude  to  you  we  owe, 

God  your  benevolence  will  bless, 
And  his  approving  smile  bestow. 


HOUR  OF  PRAYER. 

BY     CATHERINE     ALLAN. 

"  Allah  !  H  Allah  !  "  from  the  mosques 

Across  the  morning  air, 
Was  heard  a  hundred  meuzzins'  cry, 

"  To  prayer,  awake  to  prayer  !  " 

And  turbaned  Turk,  and  Arab  dark, 
The  freeman,  and  the  bound, 

Sultan,  and  meanest  slave  alike, 
Fell  prostrate  at  the  sound. 


125 

"T  was  noon,  and  in  the  busy  mart, 

Was  hurrying  to  and  fro, 
When  sudden  came  the  meuzzin's  cry, 

And  all  was  hushed  below. 

And  when  the  crescent  moon  arose 

Across  the  twilight  air, 
Again  was  heard  that  solemn  sound, 

Again  they  knelt  in  prayer. 

Alas  !  in  Christian  lands,  the  bell, 

At  break,  and  set  of  day, 
May  call  in.  vain  to  Christian  men, 

They  have  no  time  to  pray. 

By  night  and  day,  in  grief  or  joy, 
For  empty  wealth  they  slave, 

Ay  !  live,  as  if  there  was  no  God, 
No  life  beyond  the  grave. 


SEED  SOWING. 

BY   MRS.    L.    H.    SIGOURNEY. 

Green  in  the  farmer's  furrow  springs  the  grain, 

And  he  who  follows  Adam  in  his  toil, 

That  garden  toil  which  makes  the  spirit  young, 

Doth  find,  with  mystic  change,  the  blackened  mould 

Transformed  and  pencilled  in  the  tulip  leaf, 

The  rich  carnation,  the  imperial  rose, 

The  wondrous  cactus,  with  its  countless  forms, 

While  the  ungainly  sapling  spreads  its  boughs, 

Laden  with  bloom  and  fruitage. 

Nature's  self 

Without  man's  aid,  doth  make  the  desert  glad, 
And  deck  the  wilderness.     The  winged  seed 
Which  to  the  husbandry  of  gales  she  trusts, 
Taketh  due  root,  and  up  the  daisy  comes  ; 
The  pallid  grass-flower,  the  fre'sh  violet, 
The  water-loving  lotus— the  fair  vine, 


126 

Clasping  the  gray  rock  with  a  thousand  arms — 
The  arbutus,  creeping  low  in  leafy  grove, 
Yet  cannot  keep  the  secret  of  its  birth, 
For  its  sweet  babbling  breath. 

The  willows  fringe 
The  water- courses,  the  majestic  elm 
Roundeth  its  temple  arch,  the  forest  oak, 
And  that  which  is  a  forest  in  itself, 
The  mighty  banian,  all  with  pride  attest 
The  unconstrained  fidelity  of  earth 
Unto  her  trust. 

Thou,  too,  oh  !  human  heart ! 

God-sown,  heaven- dewed — what  witness  dost  thou  bear 
Of  faithful  stewardship  ?     Seed  of  good  thoughts 
Was  scattered  in  thee,  by  that  book  which  makes 
The  simple  wise.     Is  there  no  evil  germ 
Admitted  by  thee  ?  no  dark  motive  made 
Welcome,  with  foul  and  bat-like  wings  to  cling 
Amid  thine  imagery  ? 

Seed  of  good  words 

The  Holy  Spirit  o'er  thy  soul  did  strew, 
Breathing  upon  them.     Do  they  blossom  there, 
In  peace  and  wisdom  ?     Ah,  thou  busy  tongue, 
So  frivolous,  so  loud  with  idle  mirth, 
So  eloquent  in  trifles,  and  so  dumb 
Oft  times,  when  piety  doth  ask  thine  aid, 
Be  true  and  tell. 

Seed  of  good  deeds  were  sown 
Beneath  the  beams  of  His  example  pure, 
Who  trod  the  way  in  loneliness, 
Nor  shrank  from  homeless  poverty  and  toil, 
So  He  might  save  the  lost. 

Pilgrim !  whose  span 

Is  shortening  every  moment,  are  there  none 
Who  hunger,  or  are  naked  ?  none  who  thirst 
For  knowledge,  pine  in  prison,  or  are  tossed 
Without  Heaven's  compass  on  the  stormy  sea  ? 
None  who  do  idols  worship,  groping  dark 
After  an  unknown  God  ?     Or  wear  the  chains 
Of  vice,  which  human  love  might  breathe  upon 
And  melt  away  ? 


127 

Haste,  ere  the  gathered  shades 
Fall  on  thee  from  the  tomb,  where  none  may  work, 
And  throw  a  shelter  o'er  the  orphan's  head, 
Cheer  the  sad  mourner,  light  the  Heathen  soul, 
And  justify  thy  Maker's  husbandry ! 
So  that  His  angels,  who  go  forth  to  reap 
Earth's  ripened  harvest  for  the  judgment  day, 
Put  not  the  sickle  in  with  tears,  to  find 
The  tares  for  burning  overtop  the  wheat. 


LINES 

SUGGESTED   BY  HEARING   MISS   M.     E.     C G,     OF   BOSTON, 

SAY,     "  I   WAS    AT   A   TENEMENT   IN   A   BASEMENT   STORY — 
IT   WAS    DAMP    AND    UNCOMFORTABLE." 

What  led  her  footsteps  there  ? 
Was  it  a  literary  taste  to  please, 

Or  her  already  highly  cultured  mind 
To  enrich,  that  in  apartments  such  as  these, 

One  so  untaught  in  sorrow's  school  we  find  ? 

Go,  ask  the  inmates  of  that  cheerless  home, 
What  led  her  to  their  comfortless  abode  ? 

Did  she  delight  amid  sad  scenes  to  roam, 
And  view  the  tears  that  from  true  misery  flowed  ? 

Motives  like  these  influenced  not  her  mind, 
It  was  her  aim  to  chase  the  sorrowing  tear, 

And  by  her  gentle  words,  and  actions  kind, 
The  desolate,  afflicted  heart  to  cheer. 

Long  ere  this  frail  memorial  meets  her  eye, 

This  little  incident  may  be  forgot  ; 
But  He  who  secret  actions  can  descry, 

To  dark  oblivion's  wave  consigns  them  not. 


128 

But,  when  the  quick  and  dead  before  him  stand, 
And  Folly's  votaries  are  clothed  with  shame, 

Will  say  to  those  arranged  on  his  right  hand, 
As  you  have  succored  these,  who  love  my  name, 

I  do  consider  it  as  done  to  me, 

And  will  among  my  friends  your  names  record ; 
It  is  my  will  you  should  rewarded  be, 

By  sharing  the  enjoyments  of  your  Lord. 


HOPE  OVERCOMING  DESPONDENCY. 

;  Why  art  thou  cast  down,  oh  !  my  soul  ?  " 

Why?  misfortunes  on  misfortunes  press  upon  me — swell  o'er  my 
head  like  waves,  and  dash  me  down." 

But,  shall  I  say  no  ray  of  joy  appears  ? 

Where  are  the  mercies  of  my  former  years  ? 

Where  are  the  ebenezers  I  did  raise, 

To  Him  who  filled  my  heart  with  love  and  praise  ? 

Shall  I  unmindful  of  that  mercy  prove, 

Which  crowned  my  youthful  days  with  tender  love  ? 

Shall  I  to  grief  resign  my  life  a  prey, 

And  leave  my  infants  on  life's  stormy  sea? 

Oh  !  never,  while  the  Savior's  cheering  voice 

Says,  "  Come,  and  I  will  make  your  heart  rejoice, 

Who'er  thou  art,  that  heavy  laden  be, 

Oh  !  come,  and  peace  and  comfort  find  in  me. 

Though  feeble  nature  drops  the  unwilling  tear, 

Your  grief  I  know,  your  bosom  I  will  cheer, 

And  in  some  future,  happier,  blissful  day, 

The  smiles  of  joy  shall  chase  those  tears  away. 

The  rills  of  sorrow  often  run  below, 

And  oft  I  visit  those  I  love,  with  woe, 

That  they,  when  fainting  on  life's  thorny  road, 

May  place  their  faith  and  hope  alone  in  God  ! 

There  is  a  brighter  scene,  and  cloudless  skies,, 

Where  sorrow  and  temptations  never  rise  ;, 


129 

When  safely  landed  on  that  peaceful  shore1, 
The  weary  rest,  the  Pilgrim's  toils  are  o'er. 
A  palm  of  victory,  and  a  golden  crown, 
Are  but  faint  emblems  of  those  joys  unknown  ; 
Then  courage  take,  and  let  your  sighings  cease, 
Your  latter  days  I  '11  crown  with  lasting  peace." 
'T  is  done,  I  bow  submissive  to  thy  sway, 
Give,  Lord,  or  take  thy  earthly  gifts  away, 
While  I  by  faith  survey  this  promised  rest, 
Would  humbly  say,  Thy  will,  oh !  Lord,  is  best. 


LINES, 

OCCASIONED   BY  THE   DEATH   OF    MR.  ANDREW   BARNES. 

Brother  in  Christ,  and  well  beloved, 

Art  thou  indeed  from  us  removed  ? 

Freed  from  earth's  toils,  thy  latest  foe  o'ercome, 

Has  thy  glad  spirit  reached  the  Christian's  home? 

Thy  faithful  labors  in  the  church  has  ceased ; 

From  painful  duties,  too,  thou  art  released  ; 

Duties  that  caused  the  sympathetic  tear, 

And  for  thy  tender  spirit  too  severe ; 

But  zealous  Jesus  should  his  sway  maintain, 

And  as  in  Heaven  on  earth  exalted  reign, 

His  every  precept  thou  would'st  glad  fulfill, 

Pleased  that  the  Scriptures  thus  revealed  his  will. 

Thy  pleasing,  joyous  duties,  too,  are  done, 

And  Heaven's  eternal  ecstacies  begun. 

'T  is  said,  "  we  do  not  know  what  we  shall  be ; 

But  this  we  know,  we  shall  the  Savior  see ; 

Made  like  Him,  partners  in  his  glorious  throne, 

And  God  well  pleased,  the  favored  heirs  shall  own.' 

And  shall  we  wish  again  with  mortal  bands 
To  fetter  those  who  have  securely  fled, 

From  life's  sad  ills,  to  those  delightful  joys, 
Never  again  death's  dreary  \ale  to  tread  : 


130 

Or  by  this  sad  bereavement  warning  take, 
No  longer  loiter  in  the  Heavenly  way ; 

For  our  sure  exit  preparation  make, 

And  meet  our  brother  in  the  realms  of  day. 

We  mourn  as  Christians  our  loved  brother  gone, 
And  not  as  those  of  each  fond  hope  bereft ; 

We  also  drop  the  sympathizing  tear, 

With  those  who  seem  to  be  defenceless  left. 

But  not  defenceless,  for  that  gracious  power 
Who  safely  aided  o'er  life's  boisterous  sea 

Our  brother,  if  they  place  their  trust  in  him, 
Will  their  defence,  their  sure  protector  be. 

Nor  would  we  aim  to  eulogize  the  dead, — 
Our  humble  brother  loved  not  human  praise  ; 

His  well  known  worth  no  panegyric  needs, 
Christian  affection  animates  our  lays. 

Methinks  I  see  him  stand  with  placid  brow, 
His  right  hand  resting  on  God's  Holy  Word  ; 

"Brethren  and  sisters,  what  are  earthly  joys 
Compared  to  those  these  precious  truths  afford  ? 

4<  I  do  rejoice  as  life's  declining  sun 

Lengthens  time's  shadows,  and  fortells  my  doom, 
This  Gospel,  (weak,  yea,  lifeless  called  by  some,) 

Points  to  immortal  joys  beyond  the  tomb. 

"  On  this  firm  basis  my  best  hopes  rely, 

This  is  my  chart,  my  weapon,  and  my  shield  ; 

Nor  would  I  quit  my  station  in  this  church, 
For  all  the  satisfaction  earth  can  yield. 

41  But  time  rolls  on,  and  we  must  severed  be, 
And  pass  through  death's  cold  shade  as  others  do ; 

Oh,  may  our  children  by  these  truths  be  swayed, 
And  every  path  marked  out  herein  pursue. 

"  And  may  all  these  who  are  assembled  now, 
And  often  meet  with  us  to  worship  here, 

To  Zion's  King  with  meek  submission  bow, 
And  with  us  in  His  heavenly  courts  appear. 


131 

"  Brethren  and  sisters,  let  us  faithful  be, 
Soon,  very  soon  we  all  shall  meet  above, 

And  face  to  face  our  blessed  Redeemer  see, 
And  celebrate  his  most  stupendous  love." 

But  He  is  gone — we  hear  his  voice  no  more — 
Immortal  anthems  his  glad  powers  employ  ; 

When  loosed  from  earth,  may  we  his  spirit  meet, 
And  join  the  general  burst  of  rapturous  joy. 


LINES, 

OCCASIONED   BY  THE   DEATH    OF    MRS.    MC'NINCH,    OF 
ST.  JOHN,    N.  B. 

Ah  !  why  these  flowing  tears,  and  whence  these  sighs  ? 
Is  it  because  beneath  earth's  surface  lies, 

Enwrapt  in  death's  long  slumbers, 
One  of  our  happy  circle  ?  one  who  strove 
By  tenderest  acts  of  sympathy  and  love, 

To  light  life' s  burdens  ? 

Now  to  the  grave  consigned, 
Within  its  cell  confined, 

We  must  her  leave  : 
Sounds  on  the  coffin  lid, 
Denote  the  loved  one  's  hid 

From  mortal  ken. 

And  will  no  morning  dawn 
Upon  the  mouldering  urn  ? 

And  must  she  ever  sleep  ? 
Ask  nature's  ample  sound, 
Ask  reason  if  there  's  found 

Aught  to  indulge  a  hope  of  her  release ! 

In  vain  their  boasted  light 
To  aid  the  mental  sight, 

Or  chase  our  sadness ; 
What  then  can  give  relief, 
What  dissipate  our  grief, 

What  give  us  comfort  ? 


132 

Yet  heavenly  and  serene, 
Over  the  gloomy  scene, 

Hope  hovered ; 
Its  pure  celestial  ray, 
Illumined  the  darksome  way 

With  gleams  of  glory. 

What  taught  her  thus  to  die  ? 
What  fixed  the  fading  eye 

On  immortality  ? 
And  how  came  she  to  know 
Heaven  would  the  grace  bestow  ? — 

'T  was  boundless  mercy. 

Like  worthies  famed  of  yore, 
She  searched  the  sacred  lore, 

Truth  to  discover ; 
Nor  did  she  search  in  vain 
True  knowledge  to  obtain, — 

But  found  the  pearl. 

Nor  did  in  knowledge  rest, 
But  eager  to  be  blest, 

Publicly  came ; 
The  good  confession  made, 
And  'neath  the  wave  was  laid 

In  Jesus'  name. 

Then  rose  a  creature  new, 
With  victory  in  her  view, 

She  to  his  people  gave  her  willing  hand  ; 
With  them  the  cross  to  bear, 
Their  griefs  and  joys  to  share, 

And  make  Heaven's  revealed  will  her  standard. 

But  soon  her  race  Avas  run, 
Her  warfare  soon  was  done, 

And  ceased  each  conflict ; 
Then  change  the  tears  of  sadness, 
For  tears  of  Christian  gladness, — 

She  sleeps  in  Jesus. 

The  sealed,  the  precious  dust 
Committed  to  his  trust, 
Shall  rest  in  peace  ; 


133 

Till  its  redemption  day, 
"With  vivifying  ray, 

Unbars  the  prison  door,  and  frees  the  captive. 

Then  brought  to  pass  shall  be, 
Grave,  where  's  thy  victory? 

And  where  's,  oh,  death,  thy  sting  ? 
Heaven's  all  victorious  king, 
His  ransomed  ones  shall  bring 

To  realms  of  fadeless  glory. 


LINES, 

TO   A   RELATIVE   OF   THE   LATE   AMIABLE,  AND  VERY   MUCH   LA 
MENTED  MISS  MARY  NOURSE,    WITH  A  SMALL 
LOCK   OF   HAIR. 

"  No  more  the  dead  are  laid, 
In  cold  despair  beneath  the  cypress  shade, 
To  sleep  the  eternal  sleep  that  knows  no  morn." 

Mlmm. 

"  For  the  trumpet  shall  sound,  and  the  dead  shall  be  raised  incor 
ruptible." — Apostle  Paul. 

The  brow  that  once  this  hair  entwined, 
Now  slumbers  with  the  silent  dead ; 
While  the  immortal,  viewless  mind, 
Called  spirit,  to  that  land  has  fled. 
Ah  !  who  can  break  the  ponderous  seal, 
Who  can  the  dark  precincts  explore  ? 
What  can  these  mysteries  reveal  ? 
Can  boasted  philosophic  lore  ? 
Or  can  the  star-bestudded  sky, 
The  moon's  pale  beams,  the  solar  blaze, 
The  flowers  that  captivate  the  eye, 
Then  sink  from  the  admirer's  gaze  ? 
The  earth  receives  the  seed  that 's  sown ; 
Again  fresh  plants  arise  and  bloom  ; 
By  this  process  ne'er  was  shown 
A  resurrection  from  the  tomb. 


The  ancient  prophets  wrote  and  spoke 

As  from  the  lips  of  the  Most  High, 

And  through  their  teachings  gleamings  broke, 

Of  an  immortal  cloudless  sky. 

Not  these  ;  nor  touching  symbols  showed 

Deliverance  from  Death's  dark  domain, 

Till  the  rich  Gospel  onward  flowed, 

And  brought  salvation  in  its  train. 

O'er  earth's  broad  surface  it  extends, 

Deprives  the  last  foe  of  his  sting, 

And  soon  its  author  shall  descend, 

And  from  their  cells  each  captive  bring. 

Then  may  the  brow  this  hair  entwined, 

From  Death's  cold,  dreamless  slumbers  rise, 

And  clothe  anew  the  viewless  mind, 

Called  spirit,  and  ascend  the  skies. 


ON  VISITING  A  FRIEND, 

A.FTEB  THE   DEATH   AND   INTERMENT   OF  A  MOST   INTERESTING 
BOY. 

How  changed  this  once  glad  home ! 

We  miss  the  lovely  boy, 
Who  watched  to  see  us  come, 

And  greeted  us  with  joy. 

A  little  joyous  thing 

Fitted  life's  paths  to  cheer ; 
How  oft  his  merry  laugh  would  ring 

Its  richness  on  our  ear. 

Even  when  our  hearts  were  sad, 

And  sorrow's  tinge  o'erspread 
Our  skies,  this  laugh  could  make  us  glad, 

And  the  dark  tinge  has  fled. 

We  see  the  vacant  seat, 

And  the  fond  mother's  tear, 
In  silent,  moving,  language  speaks, 

Death's  footsteps  have  been  here  ! 


135 

Loosened  the  silver  cord, 
The  golden  bowl  has  broke, 

The  dust  consigned  to  dust, 
With  one  relentless  stroke. 

But  the  immortal  mind 

Called  spirit,  He  who  gave 
The  deathless  germ,  (now  disenshrined) 

Has  pledged  his  word  to  save. 

And  in  the  darksome  cell, 
Death  shall  not  always  keep 

The  dust,  for  He  who  conquered  death 
Will  break  the  dreamless  sleep. 

His  glory  laid  aside, 

And  mortal  vestments  wore, 
As  if  to  humble  human  pride, 

And  show  the  love  he  bore. 

To  lowly,  meek  simplicity, 
He  said,  "  Let  children  come 

To  me,  they  of  my  kingdom  are  ; " 
And  if  he  calls  them  home, 

And  sweetly  shelters  from  the  storms 

That  his  all-seeing  eye 
Sees  gathering,  and  will  overspread 

The  now  unclouded  sky, 

Although  we  drop  affection's  tear, 

We  will  not  dare  repine, 
But  to  His  will  submissive  bow, 

And  own  the  hand  divine. 


136 


LINES 

OCCASIONED   BY   THE    DEATH    OP   MR.    ASA   WILSON",    OF  SALEM, 
MASS.,    WHO    DEPARTED   THIS    LIFE    IN    AFRICA. 

BY   MRS.    EATOX. 

In  a  distant  clime,  and  stranger  grave, 

They  say  my  husband  sleeps, 
Where  luxuriant  vegetation 

Unchanging  verdure  keeps. 

I  saw  thee  last  in  life's  full  prime, 

With  manhood  on  thy  cheek, 
Nor  dreamed  the  fever's  burning  blight 

So  soon  thy  form  would  greet ! 

And  ah  !  how  little  thought  I  then, 

Amid  affection's  band, 
That  thou  so  soon  wouldst  find  a  grave 

In  far  off  Afric's  land. 

Yet,  though  thou  sleepest  far  away, 

Within  the  cold,  damp  tomb, 
Where  those  who  loved  thee  may  not  come 

To  weep  thine  early  doom, 

Still,  still,  remembrance  tells  its  tale, 

And  time  the  more  endears 
My  husband's  name,  and  Heaven  does  not 

Forbid  affection's  tears. 

Alas  !  so  far  I  cannot  tread, 

Where  thou  art  lain  to  rest, 
To  trace  among  the  tangled  vine 

That  creeps  above  thy  breast, 

The  pale  and  lone  memorial 

Of  excellence  and  of  worth, 
Where  dearest  Asa  slumbers  now, 

Far  from  his  home  and  birth. 


137 

But  sweetly  rest  thee  in  thy  grave, 

While  I  shall  watch  the  storm, 
As  memory  whispers  of  the  place 

Where  sleeps  thy  manly  form  ; — 

And  as  I  list  the  distant  move, 

And  anthem  of  the  sea, 
I  '11  -love  the  murmur  of  the  deep, 

And  think  it  comes  from  thee  ! 

S.  A.  E. 


REFLECTIONS, 

ON   WITNESSING  THE    INTERMENT    OF    THE     MORTAL    REMAINS 
OF   T.    KNOTT,    AGED   TWELVE   YRS. 

From  the  cold  bed,  where  rests  the  peaceful  clay, 
Till  the  last  trump  shall  rend  the  vaulted  skies, 

And  on  the  eye-lids  pour  unceasing  day, 
And  bid  them  from  their  long,  long  slumbers  rise, 

I  would  survey  the  spirit's  upward  flight, 
And  trace  it  homeward  to  that  blissful  place 

Where  Jesus  reigns  in  uncreated  light, 
And  saints  and  angels  bow  before  his  face. 

We  see  our  friends  as  leaves  in  autumn  fall, 

Some  at  an  earlier,  some  a  later  date, 
Mortality's  the  common  lot  of  all, 

For  all,  alas  !  must  yield  alike  to  fate. 

But  ah  !  what  wonders  fill  the  enraptured  mind, 
While  we  by  faith  heaven's  blissful  scenes  survey  ! 

Imagination's  utmost  powers  combined, 

Can  ne'er  conceive,  much  less  can  words  portray. 

Let  those  bereft  of  hope  lament  their  loss, 
This  poignant  grief  it  is  not  ours  to  know  ; 

The  youth  we  loved  fled  to  the  Savior's  cross, 
And  found  that  grace  his  mercy  can  bestow. 
10 


138 

'T  was  this  sustained  him  in  the  trying  hour, 
When,  racked  with  pain,  the  feeble  fabric  lay, 

He  knew  that  Death  would  soon  assert  his  power, 
But  felt  no  fear,  no  terror  or  dismay. 

Assured  that  Israel's  Shepherd  would  be  there, 
And  safe  conduct  him  through  the  gloomy  vale, 

For  heavenly  mansions  would  his  soul  prepare, 
Nor  let  his  hope  decline,  or  courage  fail. 

Nor  did  his  courage  fail,  but  firm  abide,  ^ 

"When  Death  approached,  with  all  its  dread  array ; 

Come,  Jesus,  come  !  the  youthful  Christian  cried, 
And  then  in  Jesus  breathed  his  soul  away. 

Shall  we  regret  his  race  so  quickly  run, 
Life's  warfare  ended,  and  its  trials  o'er, 

That  he  the  victor's  wreath  so  soon  has  won, 
And  joins  with  seraphs  Jesus  to  adore  ? 

Or,  rather  this  impressive  scene  improve, 
And  reap  instruction  from  this  early  tomb, 

Secure  an  interest  in  the  Savior's  love, 
And  stand  prepared  to  meet  our  certain  doom. 


LINES 

OCCASIONED    BY   THE    DEATH    OF    GEORGE    BENNISON,    AGED 
NEARLY   SIX   YEARS. 

Adieu  !  dear  child,  adieu  !  a  long  adieu  ! 
No  longer  can  we  fondly  gaze  on  you, 
Or  hear  thy  infant  voice,  lisping,  proclaim 
Hosanna  to  a  Savior's  precious  name  ! 
Yes,  thou  art  gone  !  and  shall  we  mourn  to  know 
That  thou  hast  left  thy  sufferings  all  below  ? 
Thy  little  bark  has  safely  reached  the  shore 
"Where  mortal  sorrows  ne'er  afflict  thee  more  ; 
It  was  thy  wish,  that  brief  thy  race  should  be, 
And  Heaven  has  granted  that  request  to  thee. 


139 

Thy  infant  skies  were  sometimes  overcast 
With,  childhood's  trials,  and  those  trials  past, 
Thou  didst  regret  that  anger  thou  had  known, 
Though  by  thy  words  or  actions  't  was  not  shown. 
No  more  shall  grief  like  this  pervade  thy  breast, 
From  sin,  and  sinners,  too,  thou  art  at  rest, 
And  numbered  with  the  happy,  early  blest, 
While  we  toil  onward,  through  the  uneasy  strife, 
"  The  cares,  the  bustle,  and  the  woes  of  life." 
But  we  are  mortal,  and  as  mortals  mourn 
"  Over  thy  early,  unexpected  urn," 
Yet,  to  Heaven's  high  behest  we  bow  resigned, 
Infinite  wisdom  cannot  be  unkind  ; 
And  though  we  feel  our  loss,  would  humbly  pray, 
Give,  Lord,  or  take  thy  precious  gifts  away. 
Soon,  very  soon,  we,  too,  shall  pass  the  bourne, 
Whose  precincts  ne'er  admit  of  a  return. 
Oh  !  may  we  meet  thee  in  the  realms  above, 
To  adore  the  wonders  of  redeeming  love. 


LINES, 

ON  THE   DEATH   OP   JAMES   S.   BENNISOX,   AGED   SIX   YEARS. 

And  can  I  think  on  my  beloved  child, 

Who  in  death's  agonies  upon  me  smiled ; 

Yea,  on  the  very  threshold  of  existence,  strove 

To  give  to  each  a  token  of  his  love. 

Affection's  kiss,  without  affection's  tear, 

'T  is  nature's  tribute  to  a  child  so  dear  : 

But  from  my  eyes  forever  banished  be, 

The  tear  of  anguish  when  I  think  of  thee  ! 

Though  rough  thy  passage,  the  last  struggle's  o'er, 

And  thou  shalt  pass  the  gloomy  vale  no  more. 

Ah  !  when  I  saw  thy  agonizing  breath 

Draw  its  last  gasp,  and  thine  eyes  closed  in  death, 

And  viewed  thy  loved,  thy  beauteous  ruins  lay 

Slumbering  so  sweet,  I  kissed  the  peaceful  clay, 


140 

I  wept,  and  yet,  I  did  rejoice  to  know 

That  thou  wast  safely  sheltered  from  all  woe. 

What  richer  boon  could  I  for  thee  have  craved, 

My  darling  child,  than  that  thou  shouldst  be  saved 

From  earth's  dread  ills,  also,  enraptured  see 

Him,  who  once  said,  "  Let  children  come  to  me ;  " 

These  are  my  chosen  subjects,  early  blest, 

And  without  trial  taken  home  to  rest. 

For  thee,  now  ceases  all  my  anxious  cares, 

The  living  are  the  subjects  of  my  prayers ; 

Father  in  Heaven,  incline  a  gracious  ear, 

And  thy  weak  servant's  supplication  hear ; 

I  ask  not,  for  my  children,  hoards  of  wealth, 

Honor,  or  pleasure,  or  unceasing  health, 

But  spare,  oh  !  spare  these  careless  ones,  till  they 

Thy  son  acknowledge,  and  his  laws  obey  ; 

And  let  these  favored  eyes,  with  gladness,  see 

Them  wholly  dedicate  themselves  to  thee, 

Partake  the  blessings  of  thy  court,  and  board, 

And  the  enjoyments  thy  pure  paths  afford, 

Growing  in  favor,  and  in  wisdom,  too, 

And  every  path  thy  word  points  out  pursue. 

Then  let  thy  suppliant  bid  the  world  adieu, 

With  joys  celestial  beaming  on  her  view  ; 

Assured,  that  when  the  last  trump  rends  the  skies* 

The  quickened  dust  immortal  shall  arise, 

And  join  that  blissful  choir,  whose  ceaseless  theme 

Is  glory  to  HIM  who  did  from  death  redeem* 


LINES 

OCCASIONED   BY  THE   DEATH    OP  MISS   S.  N.   WHITMAN, 

What  sounds  are  these  that  vibrate  on  the  ear, 
And  fill  the  mind  with  sympathy  profound  ? 

Why  flows  so  copiously  the  unchecked  tear, 
And  why  do  grief  and  sorrow  thus  abound  ? 

Behold  !  consigned  to  that  small  spot  of  earth, 
Lies  one  who  the  domestic  circle  cheered, 

Whose  buoyant  spirits,  and  whose  harmless  mirth, 
Seemed  fitted  to  dispel,  whene'er  appeared 


141 

Clouds,  that  sometimes  even  o'er  the  Christian  skies 
Gather,  and  their  meek  spirits  much  depress  ; 

Such  was  the  loved  one,  who  now  mouldering  lies, 
Never  again  the  social  scene  to  bless. 

Callous  must  be  the  .breast  that  does  not  mourn, 
When  such  are  numbered  with  the  silent  dead, 

And  "  o'er  this  early,  unexpected  urn," 
Affection's  tributary  tears  are  shed. 

But  Christian  parents  never  dare  arraign 
The  High  Behest,  or  say,  what  doest  thou  ? 

Assured  their  loss  is  her  eternal  gain, 

They  to  the  painful  mandate  meekly  bow. 

They  know,  to  err,  Jehovah  is  too  wise, 

And  too  benevolent  to  be  unkind ; 
On  faith,  and  hope's  strong  pinions  they  arise, 

And  in  His  word  sweet  peace  and  comfort  find. 

They  know  that  Jesus  came,  the  broken  heart 
To  heal,  and  wipe  away  the  mourner's  tears, 

That  in  their  sorrows  keen  he  bears  a  part, 
Though  dark  this  dispensation  now  appears. 

Yet,  when  aside  the  mortal  covering  's  laid, 
And  bursts  "  celestial  beamings  "  on  the  sight, 

When  faith,  that  pierces  through  the  darksome  shade, 
Shall  be  succeeded  by  fruition  bright ; 

When  Heaven,  to  their  unearthed,  enraptured  eyes, 
Deep  providential  mysteries  shall  unfold, 

When  hope's  firm  anchorage,  fully  realized, 
They  scan  the  purposes  as  yet  untold  ; 

When,  midst  the  pure,  harmonious,  countless  throng, 
That  voice  which  once  the  social  circle  blest, 

Shall,  with  immortal,  rich,  untiring  song, 
Praise  Him  who  called  her  to  an  early  rest, 

Will  joy  that  they  had  said,  "  Thy  will  be  done," 
And  not  our  will,  thou  gracious  God  of  Heaven, 

We  to  thy  love  resign  this  first  called  one, 
And  would  ourselves,  and  all  thy  hand  has  given. 


142 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  FRIEND. 

Inserted  at  the  request  of  my  daughter,  A.  W.  B.,  as  expressive  of  her 

feelings  on  hearing  of  the  demise  of  her  young  friend, 

Miss  S.  N.  W.,  of  Lexington. 

They  tell  me  my  companion  dear 

Is  sleeping  with  the  dead, 
And  in  the  grave,  so  dark,  and  drear, 

They  made  her  narrow  bed. 

And  is  it  so  ?  and  shall  it  be  ? 

That  I  no  more  shall  hear 
That  tuneful  voice, 

Or  ever  see  that  face  so  loved  and  dear  ? 

Are  those  bright  eyes  forever  closed, 

That  once  so  sparkling  shone  ? 
And  from  that  cheek,  where  health  reposed, 

Is  life  and  beauty  flown  ? 

Those  lips,  that  often  on  me  smiled, 

Are  they,  too,  pale  and  cold  ? 
That  hand,  so  ready  and  so  kind, 

Is  it  o'erspread  with  mould  ? 

'T  is  so,  alas  !  and  far  away 

The  tidings  reached  my  ear  ; 
I  could  not  watch  her  slow  decay, 

Nor  know  her  end  was  near. 

I  could  not  stand  with  friends,  around 

Her  sick  and  dying  bed, 
Nor  could  I  hear  the  farewell  sound, 

As  hence  her  spirit  fled. 

Yet,  all  is  well,  for  God  above, 

Our  father  and  our  friend, 
Has  doubtless  called  her  hence,  in  love, 

Has  made  her  sorrows  end. 

And  may  I  all  the  moments  spend, 

Which  God  to  me  has  given, 
So  that  I  may,  when  life  shall  end, 

With  her  inherit  Heaven. 


143 

TENDER  RECOLLECTIONS. 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  LATE   MRS.    SCOULLAR. 

More  than  fifteen  years  have  fled 
Since  released  from  earthly  woes, 

Slumbering  with  the  countless  dead, 
In  a  tranquil,  deep  repose, 

Rests  my  much  loved  valued  friend, 

Still  to  memory  most  dear, 
Tender  recollections  blend 

O'er  her  urn,  and  cause  the  tear. 

Scenes  so  long  ago  transpired, 

Seem  like  visions  of  a  dream, 
(Though  they  once  the  breast  inspired,) 

Buried  'neath  oblivion's  stream. 

But  while  memory  remains, 

Soothing  words  and  actions  kind, 

With  their  firmest,  gentlest  chains, 
Sweet  associations  bind, 

And  still  clothe  the  mouldering  dust 

"With  its  former  pleasing  hue ; 
Memory,  faithful  to  thy  trust, 

Thou  canst  still  recal  to  view, 

The  mild  visage,  and  sweet  smile, 
That,  when  all  around  seemed  drear, 

Could  light  up  the  scene  awhile, 
And  my  saddened  spirit  cheer. 

Pifteen  years  have  passed  away, 
With  important  changes  fraught ; 

We  with  gratitude  survey 

Wondrous  things  the  Lord  hath  wrought. 

The  movements  of  the  spirit-band 
Are  hidden  by  a  pierceless  screen, 

Perhaps  they  round  our  pathway  stand, 
And  watch  our  footsteps,  though  unseen. 


144 

If  so,  dear  shade,  and  hovering  near 
The  consecrated,  troubled  wave, 

Thou  sawest  one  to  thee  most  dear, 
Rise  from  the  emblematic  grave, 

Adopted  heir  with  God's  own  son, 

To  an  inheritance  divine, 
Having  by  that  institution  shown, 

She  did  her  will  to  his  resign. 

Oh !  most  transporting,  rapturous  scene  I 

Angels,  who  estimate  aright 
The  value  of  redeeming  love, 

Rejoice  to  witness  such  a  sight. 

These  are  the  contemplative  nights, 
That  o'er  my  pensive  moments  steal, 

But  the  ecstatic,  rich  delight, 
Pure,  disembodied  spirits  feel. 

Mortal,  imaginative  powers 
Are  lost  in  the  intense  survey, 

For  though  the  spirit  upward  towers, 
"We  feel  that  we  inhabit  clay. 

Dear,  gentle  shade,  I  soon  with  thee 

Shall  occupy  the  spirit  land, 
Unless  by  the  long,  fixed  decree, 

The  mighty  angel  lift  his  hand. 

And  earth,  by  the  omnific  word, 
Suspended  for  six  thousand  years, 

An  opaque  orb  shall  be  unfurled, 

And  blazing,  light  surrounding  spheres  ! 

Hades,  fold  up  her  useless  screen, 

Doomed  with  the  grave  to  be  destroyed, 

While  Death's  great  conqueror  is  seen, 
With  clouds,  and  all  confess  him  Lord. 

Then  wake  !  oh  !  wake  thee,  thou  my  soul, 
And  trim  thy  lamp,  and  see  it  be 

With  oil  replenished,  that  He  may 
Among  his  friends  acknowledge  thee. 


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